


Faith and Fate

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Dark Magic, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson-centric, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt, Empath Raven (DCU), Everyone swears, Flashbacks, Gen, Hallucinations, Magic, Morally Grey Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, Raven is a good friend, Resurrected Jason Todd, Resurrection, Swearing, eventual bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23431591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Dick Grayson died seven years ago.He just woke up in a dumpster.--((Temporary Hiatus))
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Everyone, Arella & Dick Grayson, Arella & Raven (DCU), Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Raven, Koriand'r/Raven (DCU) (implied/referenced), Tim Drake & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 91
Kudos: 426





	1. Concerning

Dick Grayson died seven years ago.

He was sixteen. He was starting to make the switch between Robin and Nightwing. He was growing into himself and he was confident and it seemed like everything was perfect… Or as close to perfect as they could get, at least. And, really? That was all he had ever wanted.

For things to feel good and normal and as close to perfect as was realistic to hope for.

But then the whole world went sideways for everyone.

He died on a mission.

Bruce was… Inconsolable.

No one who knew could blame him.

But then, eventually, there was a new Robin. Jason Todd―saying he was more of a shit than Dick had been wouldn’t be fair to either of them, really. But he was certainly more outwardly hostile than Dick had been.

He made a good Robin, though.

… For the short time that he was Robin.

Jason died too, in a fight with the Joker.

Everyone was surprised when Tim Drake came around and got to be the next Robin.

Everyone was even more surprised when Jason came back and almost killed Tim for it. And even more surprised than that when Jason eventually calmed down and became the Red Hood and seemed to, sort of, get to a point where he liked Tim. At least tolerated him.

(No one would ever know the truth of their bond; that they’d gotten close mostly over wondering about the first Robin. About Dick, who Bruce very pointedly did not talk about.)

And then the mantle of Robin was passed to Damian Wayne. Bruce’s biological son.

And no one could understand why he would put such an obviously cursed title on his son. Why he would _let_ him take it up. But anyone who knew Damian for more than twelve seconds knew he wouldn’t let it go without proving he could be a good Robin.

(He bonded with Jason and Tim, after a while, about Dick.)

(But first he bonded with Jason over being an insufferable little _shit.)_

(... And, eventually, with Tim, because Tim was a scarily efficient little intel-gatherer and schemer and he learned the hard way that if Tim said he was going to make you regret something, he _meant it._ And that was deserving of some… Grudging respect, at least.)

Inevitably, the bird boys became the bird _brothers._ They already were, legally, with Bruce holding legal guardianship of all of them, but… Well. The bonds developed.

They took care of each other. They cared _for_ each other. Even if Jason and Damian were a little aloof and liked to _pretend_ they didn’t like Tim, they loved him to pieces and he loved them just as much. That was just how it was.

And, of course, they all always wondered about Dick. That was their only never-changing common interest. The one thing they could all always agree on and talk about―they knew _nothing_ about Dick, except what he’d looked like, and that he’d been the first Robin. They knew that, while in costume, he’d been sassy and inventive and he’d given most villains a run for their money. But… That was _Robin._

They didn’t know what Dick had liked to do in his free time. They didn’t know what he really thought about being Robin. They didn’t have the foggiest idea what kind of a person _Dick_ had been. Only Robin.

It was frustrating.

Still, there wasn’t much they could do about it.

Bruce didn’t talk about Dick.

One horrible, no good, _cold_ night on patrol, the brothers all startled when Bruce’s communicator went off. So did he.

Only a select number of people had a high enough importance on his contact list to make _noise_ when they called him. None of the brothers knew for sure how many people were on that list, but they _did_ know that all of those people knew not to call unless it was an emergency.

 _“Bruce,”_ Came a raspy, female voice that none of them quite recognized, _“Are you at home?”_

There was a note of panic just barely discernible in her voice.

“I’m on patrol,” He answered, gruffly, “What’s the situation?”

 _“I need you at_ **_home,_ ** _B.”_ She hissed in reply, _“It’s important.”_

They could see him working his jaw. Considering it.

 _“Bruce,”_ She hissed again, sounding a little frantic, when he didn’t reply immediately.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” He assured her, seeming a _little_ shaken by her insistence.

 _“That’ll have to work.”_ She replied, a little shortly, and the call disconnected just like that.

Nevertheless, they all headed toward home pretty much instantly.

“Who was that?” Damian couldn’t help asking, eyes narrowed and jaw tight.

“Yeah, she must be really fu- _freaking_ important if she had sound privileges.” Jason tacked on, carefully avoiding profanity because he _knew_ he’d get a lecture for it and this was _not_ the time for that.

“One of the old Titans,” Bruce replied, “You’ll meet her when we get there.”

Damian, at least, seemed to relax a little bit at that. But Jason and Tim didn’t take much solace in the fact that it was a Titan. They’d heard most of them worked closely with the first Robin, back when he was alive. If she still had comm privileges, she must have worked _really_ close with him. Maybe even been on his team.

It was concerning.

Very concerning.

But they went at Bruce’s heels, concerned and confused but unwilling to slow down to ask any more questions… Not that Bruce was likely to answer them. As with Dick, he was notoriously tight-lipped about the Old Titans. Anything there was to learn, anything there was to be found in terms of answers, would have to come from the Titan herself… Whoever she was.

She sounded colder than even Bruce was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Loch, back at it again with the obscure AUs
> 
> Anyways hi this is like only the fifth time I've written for DC as a whole and it'll be the first multi-chapter fic I've written for it that wasn't commissioned so that's cool. Uh. Stick around to find out what's going on?
> 
> And if you enjoy, please leave a comment or kudo <3


	2. Familiar

Dick Grayson died seven years ago.

Raven wasn’t there for it―she was already back in Jump City, already settling back in with Beast Boy and the others for their next long-haul assignment there at the Tower. They had everything set up, and Nightwing would be joining them as soon as he and Batman finished busting up the latest group of baddies that Batman had needed his help with. They’d even started moving some of his stuff into his room and re-decorating after he’d torn it to pieces last year before they all went back to their homes for a break while the Flash took over Jump City for a while.

They were kids.

They all deserved a break, and the League agreed wholeheartedly.

From what Raven understood, Dick hadn’t taken much of a break.

But, hey, he  _ thrived _ on being a vigilante. He loved busting up baddies and putting his skills to good use. Not being the one in charge was enough of a break for him, she was sure.

Everything was going well.

… And then the call came in.

From Bruce himself.

And they all knew instantly something was screwy.

They just weren’t expecting…

_ “Robi―  _ **_Nightwing_ ** _ is dead.” _

It was straightforward. Didn’t beat around the bush, didn’t leave them guessing. Just let them know what the situation was. Dick was dead. Plain and simple, just like that.

The surge of horrible, terrifying emotion that Raven felt had busted most of the screens and windows around her. Starfire had all but collapsed in her horrified grief. And Beast Boy and Cyborg just… Stared.

_ “Raven is the new leader.” _ Bruce said, still straightforward and empty-toned,  _ “I expect you all to be ready to take over for Flash again by the end of the month.” _

And Raven had been… She wasn’t sure. She thought it may have been fury she felt for the next month. Pure, unfiltered fury and the bone-crushing feeling of having lost the guy she considered her best friend. It left a hole in her chest.

On the final night of their time to prepare to take the city back, it all came to a head.

She found herself in Wayne Manor with Bruce―her powers flickering and jerking her around in the Tower until she caved and let them drag her through the shadows to stand in front of him. And he was surprised, but she didn’t care.

She screamed at him for… Longer than she was proud to admit to. She screamed, and she may have cried, and all she could think was  _ “How  _ **_dare_ ** _ you?” _ while she was doing it. How  _ dare _ he have no visible reaction to Dick’s death? How  _ dare _ he expect them to not have one? How  _ dare  _ he tell them to just pick up and move on? Dick was their  _ friend, _ not just their leader, and with him gone the team wasn’t the  _ same. _ They couldn’t just go back to working like nothing had  _ changed. _

… By the end of it, she was sobbing outright and wrapped up so tightly in her cloak that she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.

Everything just felt so  _ raw _ and every piece of glass in the room had shattered into a million smaller pieces that she just didn’t have the energy to care about.

And Bruce just… Had Alfred get her some tea and sent her on back to the Tower when she’d finally finished it. Didn’t give her any legitimate reasons to not be angry with him. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t express anything concerning Dick that he should have.

And she stayed furious.

She’d been even more furious when Jason became the new Robin a year and a half later.

She’d almost straight-up attacked Bruce at the next League meeting she attended as the Titans’ de-facto leader. Instead she’d just spent a while screaming at him again. She didn’t even care that the other supers were present. She didn’t care she was talking to an authority figure. All she cared about was how  _ stupid _ and  _ unfair _ and  _ heartless _ it seemed.

Dick was gone, and Bruce didn’t even seem to  _ care,  _ and now he was just going to  _ replace him with another orphan? _ Like Jason would ever be half the person to her and the rest of the Titans that Dick was. Like Jason would be the same kind of Robin Dick had been.

She didn’t cry that time, no matter how much she wanted to.

She didn’t break any glass, either.

She just screamed and told him what a cold, heartless,  _ inhuman _ creature he seemed like.

And everyone had been too stunned to stop her when she left.

It stood to reason she never ended up meeting Jason.

She didn’t want to, and after her display in front of the rest of the League, they seemed to get the message that he wouldn’t be welcome with the Titans. And she felt just a little bad for it,  _ just a little, _ because it wasn’t Jason’s fault. None of it was. But she couldn’t see him in  _ Dick’s _ costume and not resent him for it.

… And then Jason died, too, while up against the Joker, and she felt worse.

At least Bruce seemed effected this time―but that just made her angrier, really.

How dare he show that much pain and remorse for Jason when he’d just been completely blank and unbothered when Dick died? It boiled her blood. Had her grinding her teeth.

… But she respected his genuine mourning enough not to say anything about it. Not yet.

It wasn’t even Bruce who got her to forgive Bruce.

It was Manhunter.

They had a very,  _ very _ long talk about Dick, and about Jason. He understood why she was upset, didn’t consider for a  _ second _ telling her that she was out of line for her outrage. For not being able to meet Jason and look him in the eyes when it seemed he was nothing but a hollow replacement for Dick. But he  _ did _ tell her that she should consider Bruce’s side of things, and was patient when she informed him that Bruce didn’t really seem to  _ have _ one before Jason died.

He just guided her through what Bruce had been feeling when she was done. Helped her understand that Bruce was hurting as much as she was and just wasn’t able to make himself express it outwardly. Jason was a punch in the gut after getting all of his ribs broken, really.

Dick’s death had hollowed out a part of his chest, and Jason had needed a home, and Jason had wanted so desperately to help when he found out how much Bruce was hurting… And then he died, much like Dick had, and it had just hollowed out a new part of him. Scraped against the still sore hollow where Dick had been and forced a reaction out of him.

… And she understood.

She really,  _ really _ did.

So she’d forgiven him, and tried to move past it.

When he adopted Tim, she was there at his side to help him work through how much more having him around made the hollows that Dick and Jason left  _ ache. _ And she was still furious for the way he handled it, still so unbelievably angry that he’d let Jason try to replace Dick, but she understood. And she knew that if Tim found out who Bruce was, he would want to help, too.

… And she was willing to let it happen, if Bruce was.

But she still wouldn’t be able to look Tim in the eyes in Dick’s costume and not resent him.

So she kept her distance.

And, inevitably, he did become the next Robin. And he was good at it! Much closer to Dick’s iteration of Robin, just lacking a bit in the sass department. And the acrobatics. But he was smart and quick and he picked up on his training fast. Bruce was proud, no matter how much it hurt, and Raven was happy for him.

Furious and hurting, but happy for him.

She even almost managed to meet Tim, but she decided it just… Wasn’t a good idea. If her powers got out of control―which was  _ much less _ common these days, but still possible―, she could be the reason that this Robin was no longer around. She wasn’t willing to have that on her conscience. Not when he didn’t deserve her anger. Not when it wasn’t his fault.

And then Jason came back, and boy had that been an adventure. She’d had to be stationed at the Manor to keep an eye on the nearly comatose Tim and help Bruce look out for Jason so that they could potentially sedate him and get him back to the Manor without issue. She’d ended up down in the Bat Cave with Jason in what passed for a stasis bubble for longer than she’d ever had to hold someone with her powers before.

Thankfully he wasn’t awake for any of it, and he wasn’t going to remember her when he finally did wake up.

The road with him was tricky after that.

He resented Tim directly for being Robin, and he did  _ not _ get along with the kid whatsoever. Was pissed off at Bruce, too. And Bruce, for  _ once, _ listened to her and took them  _ both _ off of the field. Neither one could be Robin. It was a relief for Tim, and a point of contention for Jason.

But, eventually, Jason crafted a new identity for himself. He became the Red Hood. And he seemed to, sort of, chill out afterwards. At least seemed to be nicer to Tim, who was thereafter allowed to be Robin again. Wasn’t necessarily any less ruthless and hostile while in the field, though…

At least Bruce got him to agree to use rubber bullets most of the time.

The appearance of Damian was another punch in the gut for both Raven and for Bruce. Ended up being a punch in the gut for Tim, too, very quickly.

Those two did  _ not _ get along.

It seemed every single night she was being called in to make sure that Damian slept through the night so that Tim could as well, because that little shit liked to launch sneak attacks. It was what he was trained for. And Tim was trying so hard to be kind to him―she could tell that just from seeing them from a distance.

That Jason seemed to almost abandon Tim in order to be close to Damian seemed even more of a gut punch to the boy, and the final straw was Damian outright demanding he get to be the next Robin and that Tim get out of the role. She heard from Bruce that Tim had acquiesced, and gracefully at that, but had  _ not _ done so quietly. There had been a very distinct and unhidden statement that Damian would regret pushing him out.

… Two weeks later, she suddenly no longer had to be called to the Manor every night to secretly put Damian to sleep.

When she asked Bruce about it, he seemed… Proud, and amused, to tell her that Damian still bothered Tim and was still somewhat hostile, but after Tim had smeared IcyHot all over the inside of all of his underwear he’d decided to give him at least enough grudging respect to allow him to sleep through the night.

… She was proud of Tim for that one, too, she had to admit.

And over time, she came to sort of see them all as little brothers, like she saw Dick as a brother before he died. They all reminded her at least a little bit of him, and they couldn’t hide the truth from her when they didn’t know they needed to―all of them were  _ fascinated _ with Dick. They all wanted to be like him, all wanted to have what he’d had. They even wanted to know what kind of movies he’d liked, what he’d done in his spare time.

They were a little bit obsessed, really.

If she could face them, look them all in the eyes, she’d have been happy to feed that obsession a little bit.

… But everything was still a little sore for her, especially when she saw Damian in the costume.

Still, she was at least comfortable enough with all of them, adored them all enough from a distance, that she could handle staying in Gotham nowadays. She didn’t feel the need to run off to Bludhaven or Jump City at every opportunity just to be away from the pain. She even patrolled, most nights, and started to get the point where she didn’t flinch seeing Damian flit past in full Robin costume, with Tim at his heels as the Red Robin.

So, that was… Probably how she ended up here.

In an alleyway.

Staring into a dumpster with a familiar face staring back at her.


	3. A Million Questions

The last thing he remembered was fear.

Or, well, maybe not fear. Really more like the realization of what was about to happen to him, and then the beginnings of pure, unfiltered  _ terror. _

He remembered realizing what was about to happen, remembered thinking,  _ oh God, oh no, _ and wondering if he still had time to run. He remembered the way his heart started to pound and his stomach twisted. He remembered pulling in breath―to scream? Maybe.

So when he opened his eyes, slowly, whole body aching from head to toe and everything spinning, he wondered if all of that might have been a nightmare. Just a really,  _ really _ bad nightmare. Maybe he’d breathed in too much of Scarecrow’s fear toxins in his lifetime, and now that was how he was going to spend his nights for the rest of his life.

But slowly, he realized he was in a dumpster.

It was the only place he  _ could _ be.

It stunk, and he was pretty sure he was laying on a bag of broken glass and twisted metal. The walls were metal, rising maybe another two feet above his head. He was sprawled as much as he could be sprawled in the small space. Above him, the lid was open and the sky stretched out above him along with the sides of the buildings he was apparently between.

It looked even cloudier than it had ever been. There wasn’t a star in sight.

And, God, his body really  _ did _ ache something fierce. Had he been in a fight? Was that why he was having a nightmare? Was that why he was in a dumpster? He winced when he tried to sit up and felt whatever he was laying on in the dumpster jab into him harder.

He pushed through the pain, though, like he’d taught himself to, and forced himself to sit up. Had to lean back on his hands, regardless.

He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, shaking his head at the sudden dizziness.

And then, when he opened his eyes again―Raven? What was she doing here? She was supposed to be in Jump City. But she looked just as surprised to see him, if not more so. Her eyes were wide, not bothering to hide the surprise and disbelief in her expression.

“... Dick?” She finally asked, voice weaker than he’d ever heard it.

“Rae?” He asked, in return, wincing at how much his own voice rasped. How long had he been in this dumpster? And why was her hair so  _ long? _ She never let it grow past her shoulders…

… And, hey, why hadn’t she called him Robin? Or, rather,  _ Nightwing? _

He was in costume. He could feel it, he could  _ see _ it. But she’d called him Dick, instead.

_ What the fuck is happening right now? _

“Oh my  _ God,” _ Raven uttered, in reply, and she looked far more stricken and disbelieving than he’d ever seen her.

She was expressing emotion so  _ openly! _ It was…  _ What? _ Why?

“Dick,” She said, slowly, after another moment of staring at him in silence, “What’s my mother’s name?”

_ Oh, that’s not good. _

Raven would only ask him that if she wasn’t sure he was  _ really _ him. It was their secret code, of sorts. She had only ever told  _ him _ her mother’s real name. Or either of her mother’s names, for that matter. Anyone else who learned their names had already known or had plucked her chosen name from Raven’s mind.

“Arella,” He told her, slowly, carefully, “But before she had you, her name was Angela.”

He wasn’t sure if the look that crossed Raven’s face was one of relief, or one of pain. It may have been both. Something was  _ very _ wrong, here. And he was really starting to piece that together the longer he looked at her. She had a scar on her left cheek, now―small and inconsequential, like she’d been nicked by something and it just hadn’t healed up completely. She had dark circles under her eyes like he’d never seen. Her hair fell to her hips. She wore a pair of fuck-off-style combat boots instead of her old ones, and leggings instead of leaving her legs bare as she had for as long as he’d known her.

She looked…  _ Older. _

_ Oh God, _ he thought,  _ oh fuck. _

“Rae,” He managed, “What the fuck is happening right now?”

“Good question,” She managed in reply, “Get out of the dumpster first?”

Against all odds, he had the presence of mind to feel a little embarrassed that he was sitting on his ass in a dumpster. Presumably a  _ Gotham _ dumpster, which was worse than probably any dumpster in any other city.

He clambered on out of the dumpster and tried not to groan or wince when all of his body protested the movements. It felt  _ horrible. _ His every single  _ atom _ hurt. He was sore and achy and dizzy and he was  _ pretty _ sure he felt a headache coming on.

“What do you remember?” Raven asked him, carefully, after helping him sit down in the alley and sitting down with him.

Well, that meant that she’d noticed he was in pain… Either that or she thought he was going to need to sit down for this news.

“I―” He hesitated.

… Had that not been a nightmare?

_ Was that  _ **_real?_ **

“... I was fighting with some kingpin-type bastard,” He said, slowly, recounting that maybe-maybe-not nightmare, “And he tossed some kind of explosive my way when he realized I had him cornered.”

The way she went pale told him that it wasn’t a dream. Or, if it was, it was based on reality. Maybe only part of it was a dream.

“Okay,” She said, calmly despite her stark white face, “And?”

“Not much else,” He admitted, “I remember the mission itself, I remember I was supposed to be back in Jump City by the end of the month and I was trying to finish up as fast as I could so I could go home.”

“Okay,” She said again, “Alright.”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

“... I need to catch you up on a lot,” She finally divulged, “There’s― There’s a new Robin, now, and you’ve technically got three little brothers.”

“Rae?” He prodded, trying to digest that and  _ not _ liking the way she was phrasing things.

He was scared.

God, was he scared.

Something  _ stunk _ here, and it wasn’t the dumpster.

“Dick,” She sighed, calmness dissolving into distress just like that, “You... It’s been  _ seven years. _ You’re  _ dead. _ You’ve  _ been dead. _ For seven  _ years.” _ Tears sprung to her eyes, “But you’re here,” She croaked.

The world spun out of focus around him―sudden and unbidden. His breath punched out of his lungs. It made way too much sense. It made no sense at all. There was… No. It wasn’t  _ possible. _ He couldn’t have  _ died. _ He couldn’t have  _ come back. _ No way.

No.

“Rae,” He croaked, because the world had flipped itself on its head and the movements had smeared his sight, and he was terrified and he couldn’t  _ see her. _

Arms closed around him.

She was shaking as much as he was.

“Please don’t cry,” She whispered, “God, Dick, please don’t cry.”

“You either,” He managed in reply.

She squeezed him. He squeezed back.

He couldn’t breathe.

He remembered being terrified and rooted to the spot. The bomb, it― He hadn’t gotten lucky, huh? It had gone off. He’d been hit.

It killed him.

He  _ died. _

Jesus  _ Christ, _ he― what?  _ How? _

None of it made sense.

… Except it sort of did.

Like, it made things start to make sense for him. How long things had been black for him. Why he didn’t remember much. Why Raven seemed older. Why everything hurt.

He’d been dead for seven years. He probably didn’t have anything to remember after the bomb went off, and his brain probably just couldn’t process it actually going off. She  _ was _ older. And he’d just come back after being blown up.

It was…

Well, yeah. It would make sense.

But holy  _ shit _ he couldn’t comprehend it.

“I wanna go home,” He croaked, into Raven’s neck.

And she tensed up a bit, but nodded after a second. “Let me call Bruce.”

“Okay,” He agreed, and when she pulled back all he could do was scrub at his face and curse under his breath at the wetness he smeared away with each pass. He listened to her call to Bruce halfway, didn’t like the amount of silence involved or the way Raven’s voice turned into a strained hiss after that silence. “... Did you tell him?” He asked, foggily, as he struggled not to wipe his wet hands on his dirty suit.

“Not yet.” She sighed, “I thought it would be something best left to when he sees you in person.”

He nodded.

That made sense.

Helping him to his feet, she did wrinkle her nose a little while looking at him. He imagined he must look pretty bad. He hadn’t really had a chance to actually  _ process _ the state of his suit. He just knew it was dirty. Maybe even ripped. He didn’t know. The pain left him kind of numb to any other sensations so he couldn’t tell if there were any tears.

She lifted part of her cloak and smeared away the remaining wetness.

She didn’t peel his domino mask off yet, and he appreciated it.

Then, in a flare of her power, she transported them directly onto the front porch of the Manor. He wondered if she was allowed inside whenever, like he was even when he wasn’t technically  _ living _ there. He wondered if she had a key, and a security pass for the front gates.

It was the only thing he could occupy his mind with to avoid thinking too much about the fact that he’d  _ died. _

She didn’t knock at the front door, just let them in and ushered him a little ways away from the main staircase in the foyer. Her grip on him faltered, and when he looked up at the walls he realized why.

_ “You technically have three little brothers,” wasn’t a joke, huh? _

He stared at the portrait in front of him with a lump in his throat and feelings he didn’t really understand starting to pool in his stomach.

There was Bruce, a little older but overall the same guy, and three kids he didn’t recognize. One looked around his age, looked… A lot like he did. Same black hair, same blue eyes… Or, well, almost the same. This boy’s looked… Darker. And then there was the taller of the two others, who also… Had black hair and blue eyes. He looked a little kinder than Bruce or the other two. And the smallest, who looked like he still might have baby fat on his cheeks. He was… He looked the most like Bruce. Had the same face shape. The same chin-lifted, narrow-eyed confidence.

“... You’ll meet them when he gets here,” Raven said from behind him, softly.

_ Seven years. _ He reminded himself, when he started to wonder how long these three had been around to look so close to Bruce. There were seven years they could have been brought in, could have bonded, could have learned to like each other. And seven years for Bruce to start loving them.

It…

It hurt.

He’d  _ died _ and what did Bruce do?

He filled the hole with three other kids. He got  _ more _ kids. He  _ replaced him. _

It left a horrible taste in his mouth to think of it that way, and he tried to think of it any other way to clear up the nastiness. Maybe it was like his situation. Maybe they’d  _ needed _ Bruce and he couldn’t turn them away for whatever reason. Maybe they’d never been meant to replace him, never had replaced him.

Maybe he was still, somehow, the favorite.

… But would it matter?

He didn’t think it would.

He tore his eyes―teary again, damn things―away from the portrait and looked almost desperately for the one he knew Bruce had of the two of them. The most recent one they’d had taken, just a couple of months before he’d died… And found it almost half-hidden away at the edge of the hall leading off toward the kitchen.

His feet stuck to the ground and refused to carry him to it, refused to get closer to the portrait. It was so far away.

It was  _ hidden. _

It choked him.

He turned his gaze back on the one in front of him and prayed against his own heart that he wouldn’t hold this against the kids. That he wouldn’t hate them for this. That he wouldn’t have to hate them for anything, and that they wouldn’t hate him when they met him.

He peeled his domino mask off of his face with intent to scrub at his eyes before he could start actually crying, but the portrait caught his attention again and all he could do was stand there and stare at it, domino falling limply from his fingers and fluttering to the floor at his feet. Bruce looked so happy in this one. So much happier than he ever did in the portraits with  _ Dick. _

It choked him again.

A noise behind him drew him back into the present from the horrible train of thought he’d started to trundle down, the resentment building up at the idea that Bruce loved these boys more than he loved Dick.

He turned, slowly, and found Bruce and Raven. Bruce had paused halfway through a step, and part of Dick said that he’d been checked out long enough Raven must have explained the situation already. And he’d just been staring at a portrait with teary eyes like a child.

“Dick?” Bruce asked, slowly, softly.

“Hey, B.” He replied, and managed not to let his voice shake or the lump in his throat make him sound choked up.

Lingering a little further behind Bruce, he could just barely catch sight of his three ‘brothers’ waiting in the wings. They looked a little shell-shocked. Maybe in awe? He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure he cared, either.

Bruce took another step toward him, and he didn’t move.

Soon enough they were less than two feet from each other and all he could do was stare. Bruce looked the same but  _ so _ different. His brows furrowed as he examined him and Dick felt… Like some kind of experiment. Like Bruce’s eyes were piercing right through him.

And then Bruce was pulling him into a hug, tucking him in against his chest, and his own arms halted half-raised. He almost pushed him off.

But, after a moment, he was able to return the hug.

It felt foreign. He couldn’t remember the last time Bruce had hugged him.

“You still look sixteen,” Bruce muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“I  _ am _ sixteen,” He managed to reply, “I― I remember the bomb.”

Bruce just held him tighter in response.

It didn’t last as long as Dick really wanted it to. If Bruce had held him for the next twelve hours it still wouldn’t have been enough. But Bruce eventually had to pull away, and when he did he gave him an appraising look.

Dick couldn’t meet his eyes for longer than a few seconds. Everything still felt like it was tilted sideways and spinning. He peeked around him as much as he could without moving and saw his ‘brothers’ still waiting.

“... Raven mentioned I have brothers now.” He managed, “I didn’t expect them to all look so much alike.” He half-laughed and it was actual amusement that made the sound leave his mouth, “Ya rob an orphanage of all its black haired kids, B?”

It made Bruce choke on a laugh, and he caught Raven muffling one off to the side. The tallest of his brothers straight-up snorted and hid his grin behind a hand, looking away.

Hey, at least he was still funny.

“Not exactly,” Bruce responded, snickering just a little bit, “But they would all technically be your little brothers…”

He stepped aside a bit and motioned them over, and the tallest was the first to move. He almost surged forward, across the tiled floor to stand a couple of feet away. Then the smallest moved, then the middle one.

“Dick,” Bruce said, “This is Jason,” He motioned to the tallest, “Tim,” The middle one, “And Damian. And boys, this is Dick.”

“Sup,” Jason said, almost immediately, sticking out a hand. “I died and came back too. Bet it was a pretty different situation though, huh?”

… Dick had to admit he was a  _ little _ bit charmed by how graceless it was. He felt his lips twitch up. He took Jason’s hand and shook it, firmly. “Yeah, I bet it was.”

Then, just as brash as Jason, Damian stepped in front of Tim to get to him, also sticking out a hand. “You are shorter than I expected.”

… Little charmed by that too, if  _ also _ a bit annoyed.

He took the kid’s hand nonetheless, “I’m sixteen, still got a couple more years of growing to do.”

Damian just hummed and nodded.

Then Tim sort of moved around Damian to offer his hand as well. “How weird is it that B managed to end up with four sons who all look like him when only one of them is actually related to him?”

Dick’s eyes flicked to Damian as he took Tim’s hand. He’d bet anything that the little shit was related to Bruce―he looked entirely too much like him to not be. “Pretty weird,” He admitted, “But B’s a pretty weird guy.”

Another snort from Jason, and a laugh-turned-cough from Bruce.

“You smell ungodly,” Damian pointed out after a moment.

“I woke up in a dumpster,” Dick admitted with a shrug.

Oh, hey, there went the world tipping sideways again.

He managed not to stumble or tear up again. Managed to keep himself composed. Probably had something to do with having his little brothers right there. Having strangers right there.

“Your room is still upstairs,” Raven said, before anyone else could speak, “You could probably take a shower and change your clothes. If Alfred sees you in costume he’ll have a cow anyway.”

Dick winced, “Yeah, good point.”

He glanced down, then bent to retrieve his domino. Bruce didn’t say anything to imply he wasn’t allowed to leave, wasn’t allowed to reclaim his old room and take a shower. He glanced at him, anyway, then looked at his brothers.

“Well. I should probably do that. I’ll see you all later, then.”

He got, essentially, several nods, and Jason smacked him playfully on the shoulder as he passed.

Raven went at his side up the stairs to his room. He wasn’t sure why until he remembered she was an empath, and she likely wanted to keep an eye on him. Make sure he was handling it okay. He didn’t feel like he was handling it okay. He felt like he was about to lose his shit.

The moment he’d closed his door behind the two of them, he had to sit down on the floor and try to contain a sob. He wasn’t sure what about it was really putting him in tears. It was probably a combination of all of it, but mostly that his room… His room was  _ dusty. _ Not a single living soul had disturbed the dust in here for seven years and he could  _ tell. _

Raven didn’t comment on him crying now. She just sat down next to him and held him. And he went through his breakdown just fine, thanks, and didn’t even cry for very long at all. Just long enough to alleviate the lump in his throat.

“I’ll grab you some clothes, okay?” Raven suggested, once he was done.

“Yeah, thanks,” Was all he could muster in reply as he stood and headed for the connected bathroom. Probably for the best if she did it instead of him. Her hands weren’t filthy.

He just sat on the edge of the tub until she sat the clothes on the counter.

“Thanks,” He said again, “I think I’m okay for now, though. Don’t… Don’t stay just for me, alright?”

She frowned, but nodded, “I’ll check in on you soon. But… I do have work to be doing.”

He’d bet she did, being an adult and all.

God, she was probably part of the League now.

She left, and he sat there a while longer before he managed to will himself to move. To strip out of his Nightwing costume and set it aside in the hamper.

… It was so beat up. How had anyone looked him in the eyes tonight? How had anyone taken him seriously?

Alfred was probably going to throw it out.

He wouldn’t blame him.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and―  _ God, _ the  _ bruises. _ He was  _ covered _ in them. The right side of his body had it the worst. That was the side the bomb had gone off on. He knew that. And he could see the pattern of the injuries just fine. He had a few scrapes and cuts, too, but nothing as bad as the bruises.

He was almost completely black and blue.

… Explained why everyone took him seriously, though, if all they could see under the suit was bruised and bloodied. And no wonder Raven had looked so  _ concerned _ when the right side of his face was swollen and bruised from cheekbone to chin.

Come to think of it, it  _ had _ hurt a lot to scrub at his face.

He guessed that was why.

Shaking a bit with the threat of another breakdown swiftly approaching, he climbed into the shower and turned on the water. Cleaning all the dirt off of him now that he was starting to be present enough to feel the pain was going to be a  _ bitch. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna go ahead and point out something that has some bearing on the story: the age differences for the batfam have been swapped around a little!
> 
> Damian is 12, Tim is 14, Jason is 17, and Dick would have been 23 if he hadn't died. Since he did die, though, he's still physically and mentally 16.


	4. Good Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaoooo i have to start getting ready for a ten hour shift at work in an _hour_ and i have not slept nor do i have the time to get any decent sleep
> 
> still gonna try and lay down for a lil bit
> 
> hopefully my alarm wakes me up
> 
> in the meantime have another chapter

Dick came out of the shower exhausted and not entirely sure why… Aside, of course, from how taxing it turned out to be to move once he could feel the bruises and cuts he had, and how much he’d cried while he was in there.

He pulled on the clothes that Raven had set out for him―the soft, old leggings and the too-big tanktop. Felt exposed without something to cover his bruises. Knew he didn’t have any clean hoodies right now. He hadn’t had any when he went out for that mission. He’d thrown the hoodie he’d been wearing for his entire break from Titan duty into the hamper three days before he went out.

A knock came at his door as soon as he had finally exited the bathroom.

He crossed quietly to the door and peeked out.

Alfred stared back at him, surprised and unsure but hiding it very well. “I was made to understand your laundry will be needing done, Master Dick.”

“I―” He hesitated, then stepped aside to allow Alfred in, “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Alfred.”

And Alfred pottered on past him while he half-hid behind the door.

“I must say, Master Dick, you are remarkably more put-together than Master Jason was when he returned from the dead.” Alfred said, almost conversationally, as he collected Dick’s old, dusty hamper. “He attacked poor Master Tim the moment he arrived back.”

“... Must have felt replaced,” Dick uttered, “I guess I’m just too in-shock still.”

“It may have also been the Pit that set him off so badly.” Said Alfred.

Dick almost choked on air. Yeah, the Pit would do that to a person, he figured. He must not have come back through the Pit, then. Probably for the best. If he had, his new brothers may not have survived their introduction to him. He couldn’t speak for Jason, but he knew  _ he _ was trained to kill and he was more than capable of pulling it off if he absolutely needed to. Slade had made sure of that.

“May have been,” Dick agreed, softly.

“Are you hungry, Master Dick?” Alfred asked, pausing before he left the room again.

Dick was still half-hiding behind the door. Trying to show only his less-injured side. Alfred was in enough distress already, he was sure. He didn’t need to make it worse.

“Not right now.” He said, softly, “But thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. Do let me know if you need anything else.”

“Sure thing.”

And he waited until Alfred was gone to peek the rest of the way around the door. He found Tim sort of lingering in the hallway a little ways away.

Biting down on the inside of his cheek (and regretting it immediately), he decided he ought to at least humor the kid. Maybe he needed something. Maybe he just had some questions. Maybe he just wanted to reassure himself that the brother he’d likely known to be dead all this time was actually here.

“Need something?” He asked, cocking his head to the side a bit.

Tim flushed red immediately, shifting in place. “Not exactly?” He admitted, voice a tad squeaky, “I just― Bruce never talked about you. Always said it was painful to think about. You’re… Kind of an enigma.”

“Questions, then?” Dick quirked a brow, halfway between sympathetic for Tim and hurt that Bruce hadn’t talked about him.

“Yeah,” Tim admitted. “I just… Can I ask a weird question first?”

“Sure, kiddo.”

“... What’s your favorite movie?”

“That’s not a weird question,” Dick quirked a brow again, “But it’s a tie between the Nightmare Before Christmas and Megamind.”

“Mood,” Intoned Tim immediately. “And I know it’s not really weird by like, normal conversation standards? But in this house…”

Yeah, Dick guessed that would make sense. If Tim lived with Bruce and Damian, at the very least, he could see questions about interests being weird. Lord knew Bruce didn’t do anything just for the hell of it. Not like Dick always had. You wouldn’t catch Bruce up at three in the morning making an ice cream cake for no reason on a night they didn’t need to go out patrolling―but Dick?  _ Oh, _ yeah.

Alfred had caught him making a  _ bunch _ of weird shit in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning.

“I’ll teach you the best recipe for an ice cream cake sometime,” Dick said, absently, and shifted to lean against the door frame instead of hiding behind the door.

He saw Tim’s eyes widen, saw the color drain from his face. He bit back a curse and struggled not to immediately flinch and draw back into the room.

“... Jesus,” Tim breathed after a moment, “What happened?”

_ Mm…  _ **_Had_ ** _ to be that question, huh? Why not. _

“Got blown up,” Dick replied, succinctly, with a rueful smile.

Tim winced, either from the thought for from the realization he’d just asked a recently resurrected man how he’d died. “Ow,” He uttered, eloquently. “That’s, uh― I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

“It sucks right now,” Dick acknowledged, and thanked his lucky stars that if he was going to have another breakdown about this, it wasn’t going to be right now. In front of this kid. “Definitely sucked before it happened. Don’t remember much of the actual getting blown up part, though.”

Tim nodded, like that made all kinds of sense. “I―”

“Timmy, get to bed,” Came Jason’s voice, from somewhere behind the kid, “Alfred will have a fit.”

Flushing once more, Tim threw him another look, “I, uh― G’night, Dick.”

“Night, kid.”

And then Tim ushered himself off past the door and down the hall to what was presumably his room. And into view walked Jason, who gave him one hell of a double-take and a surprised, appraising look.

“You sure you should even be moving?” Was the first thing Jason had to say about it.

Thankfully he didn’t seem as sickened or scared for his health as Tim had. Just… Understanding. Curious, too.

“Not to be that guy, but I’ve had worse.” Dick managed to shrug, “At least I didn’t wake up with any bones broken.”

Jason made an agreeing, half-sympathetic noise. Then, throwing a glance over his shoulder like he expected Alfred to be right on his ass, sent him a knife-sharp grin. “Welp, Dickie, I’ll see ya in the morning!”

Dick had to fight not to wrinkle his nose at the nickname.

… At least those two seemed to be taking the brother thing seriously, though.

Might take him some time to  _ really _ reciprocate, but he could appreciate it for now. Just as long as he didn’t end up in a fight with any of them. Just as long as nothing tipped the whole dynamic sideways early on. He felt like he could like these kids.

God, Jason looked like he was probably older than he was, now.

And it had been seven years, right? So Dick was supposed to be in his  _ twenties. _

But he didn’t feel like he was in his twenties. He still felt sixteen and tired and freaked out by this whole situation.

He wanted to close the door and sit on his dusty bed and stare into space for the rest of the night, if he was honest… But he’d already said goodnight to two of his brothers. Might as well wait around for the last one.

And then Damian was walking into view from the stairs.

Much like Jason, he pulled a rather comical double-take at the sight of Dick’s completely bruised right side. Unlike Jason, he looked almost sick, but managed to meet his eyes anyway.

“You should allow Pennyworth to look at those,” He said, not even pausing in his advance toward his own room, “He has a cream of some kind that speeds the healing of bruises.”

“I’ll make a point of it after the sun comes back up.” He acknowledged, “Thanks for the tip, though. ‘Night, kid.”

“Goodnight, Dick.”

…

… Why did he feel like this whole dynamic was going to get flipped on its head? The kids seemed to like him  _ now _ but he just… Something was going to happen. Something was going to fucking  _ happen _ and he didn’t like that. He could feel it, though. Something was going to go wrong.

… Or maybe he was just paranoid because he just woke up from being dead for seven years.

He sighed, pushing off the doorframe with all the strength he could muster and preparing to close the door. Bruce appearing gave him pause.

The man hesitated, meeting his eyes and not giving so much as a second glance to his wounds. He imagined Bruce noticed them earlier.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, voice a little tight.

“I’d ask for another hug,” Dick said, a little dry, “But given the fact I’m conscious enough to feel pain again I don’t think it would help to apply any pressure I don’t have to.” When Bruce’s lips twitched a little, he felt some satisfaction. “I think I should be fine for the night, though, B. Thanks.”

Bruce nodded, and continued on.

Must be making sure the other boys went to bed.

Made sense.

He closed the door and turned toward his bed.

Sat down on the edge of it.

Slowly laid down.

Felt his consciousness get ripped away from him almost instantly and didn’t even have the time or presence of mind to be scared of what that meant. Would he disappear? Was this a weird coma dream?

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t conscious long enough to think about it.


	5. Big Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the majority of this chapter on the bus to work the other day. If it seems choppy or whatever, please be aware I was a) on a bus and b) literally running on 40 minutes of sleep while I wrote it
> 
> I did try to give it a proofread but I'm still exhausted and my whole body hurts so if I missed anything do let me know

Dick was not at all what Jason had been expecting, he had to be honest.

But maybe that had something to do with the fact that Dick had literally just come back from the dead, had woken up  _ in a dumpster _ and wasn’t chock full of the Pit and pissed off. He’d really seemed kind of spacey―hadn’t even noticed that they and Bruce had arrived until Bruce took another step toward him after Raven (the Titan who had called Bruce, apparently) explained the situation.

But when Jason had caught that hint of wetness in his eyes that was blinked away in the space of a second, he sort of understood. It was a lot to deal with. And, well, considering how he’d personally taken  _ Tim’s _ adoption and existence, he could imagine the knife-in-the-gut feeling Dick must have felt seeing he had three new little brothers he hadn’t asked for or approved of.

And after that hug with Bruce, the one that looked like it couldn’t have lasted long enough even if it went on forever based on the way Dick seemed to cling just a little and didn’t want to let go, Dick’s demeanor had… Almost abruptly switched. He’d avoided Bruce’s eyes and directed his gaze to his brothers instead.

Jason had always known that Dick had black hair and blue eyes like the rest of them.

He just didn’t realize how very,  _ very _ blue Dick’s eyes were in person.

It was striking, really.

And his soft, not at all angry acknowledgement of their existence, his  _ joke _ about Bruce robbing an orphanage of all it’s black haired kids… It kind of threw Jason for a loop. He’d gone from spacey and a little betrayed-looking to the sort of calm and charming everyone always described the first Robin as in the space of a couple of seconds.

… And Jason had to admit, he was a  _ little _ impressed by how easily Dick had figured out which son was the one actually related to Bruce. That  _ instant _ flicker of his eyes toward Damian when Tim had made reference to it… Well. They all looked alike, so it took a sharper eye than most to see the little things that made Damian look much more like Bruce than they did.

Dick had picked them out within an hour of seeing even just a picture of Damian.

He… Didn’t really think his greeting to Dick through before saying it. But thankfully, the first Robin seemed amused, if a little fond, as a result of it. And really? Jason had always craved seeing that sort of expression on his big brother’s face. He never smiled in any of the portraits, and the smirk he wore as Robin in the later days wasn’t at all the same.

The guy’s retreat upstairs to his old room with Raven to shower and change out of his costume was a little graceless, but he was at least conscious enough of himself to feel like that was something he actually needed to be doing.

“He’s…” Tim began, after he disappeared upstairs, “... I dunno.”

“Awkward.” Damian suggested with a quirk of his brow.

“Used to being an only child,” Jason countered, “We’re weird to him.”

“Try both,” Came, surprisingly enough, from Bruce as he shifted a bit to watch the upstairs. “He… Well. He’s notoriously bad at playing with others until he gets to know them unless he’s put in charge of them.”

“Natural leader, then?” Tim asked, and Jason could tell how eager he was to have some answers about their big brother at last.

Jason could relate.

“For sure.” Bruce confirmed, “The Titans followed him unquestioningly the moment they teamed up and that didn’t change until Raven had to take over.”

Damian simply wrinkled his nose. “Someone else to take orders from,” He uttered, about as unenthused as one would expect of him.

“Only if he decides to stick around,” Bruce assured him, then winced, “... He may decide to go lead the new Titans. Or strike off on his own again.”

Jason wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

Him leaving to do his own thing, he meant. They’d only just met their big brother, after all. It’d be cool if he did stick around. Even if Jason was technically older that was still his big brother and he looked up to him. Maybe if he stuck around long enough they’d all sort of get tired of him.

He almost snorted at the idea.

… But that did remind him of what Bruce had just said. Dick didn’t play well with others unless he was in charge or he’d known them long enough. Did that mean he was going to be harder to interact with once he adjusted to the situation? Was he just so in shock from being resurrected that he couldn’t even be mad enough or antisocial enough to be mean to them?

He found himself frowning, chewing the inside of his cheek, while the others discussed Dick. He listened, of course, and delighted in every little piece of information that Bruce could be urged to divulge about Dick. But the fact was that he really didn’t know what to think of the guy, in the end. Bruce seemed to love him as much as he did them, which was a relief for all parties, but there was so much even  _ Bruce _ didn’t know and Jason didn’t think any of them would ever know.

… Only way to find out was to try and get close to him, though.

Eventually, Raven walked calmly back downstairs, cloak swishing gracefully around her. There was a dark, wet-looking spot on her shoulder and Jason would bet real,  _ actual _ money that Dick had cried his heart out into that exact spot. Lord knew that if he’d been completely aware of himself he’d have been in crying fits for the first several days of his resurrection.

Had to hand it to Dick for not just losing it in front of all of them. Just another impressive piece of the puzzle that was his older brother.

“If someone could let Alfred know that Dick’s laundry needs to be done,” Raven said, casual and smooth, “It might benefit both of them. I think Alfred will need to see him to believe he’s here.”

Bruce nodded, immediately, “I’ll pass it along to him. Thank you for bringing him here, Raven.”

There was a vaguely uncomfortable, almost angry or hurt look that flashed across her face for a second. But then it was gone, and she was nodding in what Jason assumed was meant to be a “you’re welcome”.

With a soft huff and a shrug, she tacked on, out loud, “He wanted to come home. I couldn’t have told him no if I tried. Not when he looked like that.”

The “not when he’d been dead for seven years and was losing his shit” went unspoken, but well-understood. Even Damian seemed to grasp it, and seemed a little uneasy as a result. Jason was just glad to see his first response to Dick not being emotionally stable wasn’t to insult him for it.

Raven took a deep breath and stepped down off the final step. “Speaking of bringing him home,” She met Jason’s eyes, then turned to his brothers, “I do regret this being how we had to meet. I hope you understand why I couldn’t look any of you in the eyes before.”

“Hey,” Jason was the first to speak, before he had much chance to think about it, “I get it if you resented any of us for being Robin after he died.”

The smile she gave him was rueful, and boy he hated being right. But she said, before he could continue, “I was never actually angry at any of  _ you.” _ Then her eyes flicked to Bruce, and she gave him a  _ very _ clearly unamused look, “Always at  _ you. _ But you knew that.”

“And we moved past it, didn’t we?” Bruce asked, cocking his head a bit.

… Had Raven been around all this time and they seriously just hadn’t seen her?

“Eventually.” She acknowledged, “But I think I remember telling you that if you tried to send Jason to Titan Tower I’d kick his ass and then yours.”

Jason snorted, surprised, and covered his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh. “... How old were you at the time?” He asked, just to be sure.

“Oh, too old to be threatening you, for sure,” Raven said, unbothered, “But it got the message through to them and kept you out of harm’s way from Star and BB, who may have  _ actually _ done it if they saw you wearing Dick’s colors.”

“Who…?” Jason didn’t get a chance to finish the question, as Alfred wandered in.

Seeing Raven, the man paused to blink.

“Ah, Miss Raven,” He said, after he recovered, “I do hope you’re not here for Damian again.”

“Not at all,” She replied, without even glancing toward the clearly concerned child, “I haven’t had to pop by to keep him asleep since the IcyHot debacle. I actually came to drop someone off.”

“Drop someone off?” Asked Alfred, and Jason wondered how he hadn’t even known that Dick was in the building yet.

“You might want to sit down,” Jason found himself saying. He didn’t want Alfred fainting on them.

Seeing Jason’s concern mirrored in everyone else in the room, even  _ Damian, _ Alfred promptly sat down. And their concern seemed well placed, considering he turned completely white as soon as he was informed of the situation, and needed several minutes thereafter to catch his breath.

Once he finally had, it was only a matter of him going to collect Dick’s clothes (apparently) and insisting that the boys start getting ready for bed. Jason wanted to sigh and shrug it off, if he was honest―he was  _ seventeen, _ for fuck’s sake―, but contesting Alfred today didn’t seem like the smartest plan. Everything was already sort of flipped on its head because Dick was back.

No need to turn anything into a fight.

Tim moved before he did, and Damian seemed caught up in a completely silent staredown with Bruce, so Jason sighed and bid Raven a quick goodnight before starting to head up the stares. Alfred passed him as he did, carrying Dick’s hamper which was topped with the dirty and half-destroyed Nightwing suit. He winced when he saw it. That suit was done for. It had already been a foregone conclusion that it was, of course, but seeing it crumpled up in the hamper like that…

There was no way Alfred wasn’t going to throw it out, and then Dick would have to wait for him to be able to finish a new one for him.

That was probably going to drive the guy  _ nuts. _

“... sucked before it happened. Don’t remember much of the actual getting blown up part, though.”

Jason paused, almost at the top of the stairs, and heard Tim start to speak. Just a cut-off, beginning of a sentence type thing. Jason shuddered. Had he asked Dick about dying?

Little shit.

“Timmy,” He sighed, cresting the top of the stairs, “Get to bed. Alfred will have a fit.”

The kid turned red, but hurried to comply as he threw a goodnight to Dick, who returned it with an unbothered, soft tone. And Jason continued on, prepared to throw a goodnight of his own at Dick and then leave him to his thoughts so as not to bother him. But the moment he saw him, he had to pause and take a closer look. Those  _ bruises. _ Dick’s entire right side was a mottled purple and black  _ mess. _ And like,  _ sure, _ Jason had seen the bruises on his face earlier, seen the patterns of them creeping up his neck that strongly implied that whatever killed him had been mostly isolated to his right side.

Now, he was  _ sure _ that was what killed him.

_ “Don’t remember much of the actual getting blown up part, though.” _

_ Ah, fuck  _ **_me_ ** _ dude... _

“You sure you should even be moving?” Was the first thing he could think to say, but his mind was consumed with a lot of other things.

Primarily a sudden understanding of why Tim may have asked about how he died. That pattern of bruises staining the outside of his right arm, his ribs below his old, loose tanktop, and probably his hip and leg… It was concerning. It was scary.

_ God, _ it must hurt.

Thankfully, he had a lot of practice masking concern. With any luck Dick would just see that he understood and he was curious. He’d never have to know how sick with (probably misplaced) guilt and worry he was.

“Not to be that guy,” Dick shrugged, with a huffed half-laugh he didn’t seem to mean to make, “But I’ve had worse. At least I didn’t wake up with any bones broken.”

Jason wanted to wince. Instead he just hummed his understanding (and sympathy). Then, remembering he was  _ also _ supposed to be going to bed, he shot a look over his shoulder. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, but Damian would be making his way up here very soon. He turned back to Dick and managed a grin. It wasn’t hard, given part of him was  _ very _ excited that Dick was here, was going to still be here in the morning. “Welp, Dickie, I’ll see ya in the morning!”

There was a comical sort of half-tic of one of Dick’s eyes, and his expression briefly wrinkled like he was trying not to scrunch up his nose in distaste at the nickname. But the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips told Jason he wasn’t actually very upset about it. Or, if he was, his amusement overruled it.

“Go to bed,” Dick snorted, after a second, and Jason could only grin wider as he moved to comply.

Jason settled down in his room, after that, and just barely overheard a brief conversation between Dick and Damian, then one between Dick and Bruce. Heard Dick’s door close and Bruce’s footsteps heading down the hall toward them.

It struck him, suddenly, how he’d never been in Dick’s room, but it had been two doors down from him this whole time. He’d only ever peeked in and chickened out of entering, when he was younger. Definitely hadn’t had the balls to enter it since he finally settled back into the Manor.

Something about having been dead just made him even less eager to disrespect Dick’s privacy.

… Now, he might actually be able to go in there one day.

He smiled a little, but then wondered, absently, about Bruce’s thought process when he placed them all on the same hall, within only a couple of doors of Dick’s room. Did he expect them to go snooping? Had he placed Tim across the hall from Jason’s room expecting him to snoop there, too?

Ah, who knew.

B was weird, Dick was more than right about that.

And speak of the Devil, B popped his head into the room right about that moment.

Jason tossed him a wave, making something of a show of tossing his day-clothes into his hamper and flopping onto his bed. Bruce’s lips twitched into a smile.

“Try not to bother Dick, okay, J?” He requested, softly.

“I’ll do my best,” He promised, and tried not to let it rankle that that was the first thing the guy thought to say at this moment.

B winced a little, “I only ask because I know how curious you all are about him. And I know that  _ you _ know better than any of us how he must feel right now. I guess what I really meant to ask was that you keep the other two in line.”

That got a snort out of Jason, and smoothed away the nasty feeling that had started to pool in his gut at the idea that Bruce didn’t want him ‘bothering’ Dick. He was right―they were all curious, and he could imagine Dick wasn’t exactly in much of a place to be pestered very much right now. He knew  _ he _ wasn’t going to be bugging him much.  _ But, _ B was right about the other two being the bigger issue, too.

“I can do that,” Jason told him, truthfully, “Dames might hate me a little for it once he figures out what I’m doing, but I know how to keep those two distracted.”

Bruce laughed. Stepped into the room and crossed to his bed. Jason sat up and scooched to the edge.

Bruce hugged him, and he hugged back and felt that ever-displaced and displeased part of him settle a little.

“Thanks, J.” He said, and the “I love you,” went unspoken… But well-understood.

“No problem,” Jason said, knocking his head gently against Bruce’s,  _ I love you too, pops. _

Then Bruce was gone, and Jason settled back into bed.

Sleep… Probably wouldn’t come easy tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I post things over on my [tumblr!](fusion-ego.tumblr.com) You can run over there for updates and occasional art.


	6. Bother

Dick slept through the first night of being alive without any issue, and waking up from that probably scared him more than waking up from a nightmare would have.

He was expecting some fogginess, when he woke up, some vague illusion of everything being fine and him never having died. Of all of that having been a horrible dream bordering on a nightmare… But it wasn’t. None of that happened―he woke up fully aware of the fact he had been dead and just brought back. He woke up remembering the discomfort of waking up in the dumpster last night.

He guessed the bruises helped him feel that clarity, this time.

The sun was barely rising when he slowly sat up, wincing with every small movement and dreading how much it would hurt to move around today. But he couldn’t sit still. Not right now. Not when there was  _ so much _ he’d missed. Not when if he was left alone with his thoughts too long he felt like he was going to lose his shit.

He’d barely managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed when there was a knock at the door. That had to be Alfred.

“Yes?” He called, mostly to let Alfred know he was awake.

He wanted to draw his blanket around himself, keep Alfred from seeing his bruises, but… Well. He didn’t have the time to slowly work it over his shoulders and grit his teeth until they ground together through the pain. The moment he’d acknowledged his own wakefulness, Alfred was popping the door open and entering with his hamper of now clean, freshly folded clothes.

“I’m afraid your suit could not be…” And Alfred trailed, sitting the hamper down and  _ staring. _

Dick swallowed.

“That’s okay,” He said, “I didn’t expect you to be able to fix it.”

“Master Dick,” Alfred said, slowly, after staring a moment, “Are you alright?”

He chewed the inside of his lip, where he wasn’t bruised, and reminded himself that lying to Alfred was a fool’s errand. Even if Alfred couldn’t see through it (which he could), telling him he wasn’t in pain wouldn’t do either of them any good. Alfred would fret anyway and Dick would have to grit his teeth through everything today.

“It hurts,” He acknowledged, and fought to keep the tremble out of his voice, “But yeah.”

“I have some ointment that Miss Raven brought from her home,” The old man said, “That works wonderfully on bruises. Would you like me to fetch some for you?”

“If it’s no trouble to you,” Dick said, and that was the truth.

He hated being a bother, especially to Alfred. He didn’t like making him go out of his way for him. Nevermind the fact that Alfred would do it anyway and insist it wasn’t anything… God, Alfred was too kind to him.

“It’s not, I assure you.” Alfred said, and Dick hated and loved that he still knew the guy so well after all this time.

Hated because, dammit, Alfred,  _ change _ a little. Be less willing to go out of your way!

Loved because, well, at least  _ one  _ person around here was still the person he’d known before he died. Raven and Bruce, they were… Different. Still the same people, but  _ changed. _ Changed in a way that was clearly irreversible.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred merely nodded, exiting the room and, tellingly, softly closing the door behind him. Dick took the time he had to slowly work himself off of the bed and lay his shirt aside on the bed. Couldn’t apply anything to his bruises if it was in the way. After a moment he stepped out of his sweatpants, as well, and stared down at his exposed legs below the bottom edge of his boxers. Pressed fingers carefully, sickly curiously, into the bruises discoloring the outside of his right leg and the inside of the left one. Pain sparked up under his touch and he winced, full-bodied and shuddering.

…  _ Bad _ bruises, huh?

Putting ointment on them was going to be a pain in a lot of ways.

Still, he couldn’t help pressing his fingers into the bruises on his left leg again.

The pain sparked up, same as last time. He shuddered and flinched. Same as last time. But something different happened, too. Something sparked in his vision, turned everything dim for a second.

Ever-more curious, he pressed his fingers in more harshly.

He was in a warehouse, suddenly. Everything was frozen in place, almost―the bastard he’d been fighting, who he’d cornered, stood there, half-turned and ready to flee. The explosive he’d thrown was at Dick’s side, on the ground less than a foot away. And Dick was standing there, eyes flickering between the two of them, heart thundering in his ears and then time started again. The explosive beeped, rapid and threatening and terrifying. The bastard’s footsteps started to retreat. Dick felt sick with the knowledge that even if he ran, he wouldn’t run fast enough. The bomb was too close. He jerked, turned his head, right as the beeping stopped. Light filled his vision.

With a gasp, he was back in his room, shuddering with eyes full of tears and breath uneven and rapid. Heart  _ pounding _ in his chest it took him a second to realize someone had knocked.

“Yes?” He asked, swiping the tears off of his cheeks.

The door creaked open.

He didn’t look to see who it was.

“Alfred sent me with the ointment,” Jason’s voice came, softly, and the door clicked closed. Footsteps approached, slowly. “Said he needed to start working on breakfast and hadn’t realized how close it was to time.”

“Okay,” Dick replied, voice deceptively even. “Thank you.”

A hand touched his shoulder, carefully. “Do you want help with it?”

Dick wanted to say no. He didn’t want help. He didn’t want Jason in here right now at all. He didn’t want to be touched or looked at or even acknowledged.

… But for all his flexibility, he wouldn’t be able to reach all of his bruises. Not with the way it would hurt to try.

He sighed, shakier than he’d like. “If you could do my back, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure thing.”

Jason didn’t comment on his shakiness. Didn’t even say another word as he twisted the cap off the ointment and set to work. Dick held completely still, didn’t even let himself  _ wince, _ while Jason worked the ointment into the bruises from his neck down to his hips. His hands were about as gentle as they could be, but it still  _ hurt. _ And the ointment left his skin buzzing everywhere it touched. It was horrible. It was overstimulating and  _ horrible. _

… But he wouldn’t complain. He was better than that.

“If you don’t want to come down to breakfast,” Jason said, as he backed off and placed the ointment’s jar on his bedside table, “We’ll all understand. You know that, right?”

Dick took a breath. “I know,” He said, even though he didn’t. Not for sure. “I’ll probably show up. Might be late.”

“I’ll tell Alfred,” Jason promised. “... I’ll try to keep the other two from bugging you too much, too, okay? I know you must feel like shit.”

Dick could only nod. Couldn’t even say thank you. Hated himself for not being able to muster the energy or the will to say it.

And Jason quietly retreated from the room.

Dick spent a few moments gathering himself, trying to work past the awful buzzing and the aches, and then set to work applying the ointment to everything else that needed it. Finally, he managed to cap the jar and made his way back to his bathroom to wash it off of his buzzing hands. Even the back of his right hand was covered in bruises…

He had to be careful washing the ointment off of that one.

After another couple of moments, all of it dried. The buzzing didn’t stop. The pain took second fiddle to it, though, so at least he could concentrate on the buzzing instead of the stinging and twinging. It was definitely more manageable that way.

He sighed and pulled his clothes back on. Thought about heading down to breakfast like that, but… God. He felt so  _ exposed. _ Half his bruises were on display like this. He didn’t want them to be stared at. He didn’t want to be stared at in general.

… Maybe he shouldn’t go.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moved to his hamper, instead of continuing to think too much about that. His hoodie should be in there, right?

It was right on top, actually. Neatly folded up, part of the design facing him so it was easy to pick out. He smiled a little as he retrieved it. He could just wear this―then only his face and his hand were on full display  _ and _ he was warm.

He pulled it over his head once it was unfolded and let himself relax,  _ just a little. _ He always sort of felt safe in this hoodie. It was an old Jump City design, one that had been out of date when he’d  _ bought it _ and must be doubly so now. But he loved this old thing―black, with white and green text, bearing what was more or less the crest of the city.

Most of the Jump City designs after the Titans came around featured the Tower or one of the Titans’ symbols. This one was special, as a result. Especially to him.

He took a breath, and he headed downstairs to the kitchen. That was where he and Bruce always ate breakfast, when they ate together. With just them and Alfred they never needed to use the dining room for it.

And, finding Bruce and his brothers crowded around the kitchen island, he figured they hadn’t wanted to sit in that enormous room to eat, either.

Bruce looked surprised to see him, as did the others, but he ignored it. Just took his old seat at the island, which was miraculously empty, and shot them all an exhausted smile.

Tim was the first to speak, “I have one question I wanna ask and then I won’t bother you again. Is that okay?”

Dick huffed out a half-snort when both Bruce and Jason shot the kid a look for it. “Go for it.”

“Why did you move to Jump City? Bruce won’t tell me.”

That made Dick muffle another snort with his good hand, lips twitching up. “Funny story, actually.” He began and watched Bruce’s face turn a little stormy, “I got shot on patrol, and Bruce thought it was getting too dangerous for me.” His brothers all paled a bit, clearly not seeing the humor that he did, “Tried to take me off duty. Being a very angry fourteen year old, however, I told him to shove it and stop treating me like a kid and we got in this  _ huge _ fight over it. So I packed up and moved to Jump City to go solo and he told me not to come back until I was done being dramatic.”

Tim stared at him, blinking owlishly.

He snorted yet again. “You can ask one more, if you want.”

“Did you stop being dramatic?”

“Eventually,” He nodded, “Took me a couple years and teaming up with the rest of the Titans, though. I was pretty steamed about the whole deal for a long time.”

“I don’t think ‘pretty steamed’ accurately describes it.” Alfred said, smiling a bit as he sat plates down in front of Damian and Tim, “I seem to recall you spin-kicking a punching back so hard it put a hole in it and launched it across the cave.”

“I taped a picture of B to it, too.” Dick confirmed.

“Indeed you did.”

“... You seem like a much angrier guy than I was expecting.” Jason said, brows quirked.

“I was.” Dick shrugged, “I was a veritable bottomless pit of aimless rage. Rae helped with that, eventually.”

Dick did not mention that he was still kind of a bottomless pit of rage, just one that had an aim and more control. Might was well let everyone believe he was a chill dude. It’d certainly help in bonding with them if they thought he wasn’t going to snap on them at any second. That had caused issues before… People who knew how angry he could get at the drop of a hat were always afraid to get too close, or hesitant to let him stray too far.

Cough cough,  _ Bruce. _

Alfred sat a plate down in front of him before he could say anything else, and he was thankful. Jason and Bruce got their plates, as well, and Alfred sat down with them.

They ate in relative silence, with Tim and Damian occasionally bickering quietly.

It was… Weirdly comfortable.

That said, Dick would very much like to go back to his room, thank you. The sooner he could get back to isolation, the sooner he could work out his actual feelings. And he could only handle so much socialization while his skin was buzzing like this.  _ And _ being locked up in his room would make it  _ much _ easier for Jason to keep the other two away from him.

Which he  _ was _ thankful Jason was doing, by the way, and he hoped the guy knew that.

Once they’d all finished eating, and Bruce had ordered Damian and Tim to go work on their schooling, Dick quietly got up and excused himself. He thanked Alfred for the meal, as usual, and bid Jason and Bruce a “see you later,” as he started to retreat from the room.

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?” Bruce asked, before he could leave.

“Sure,” He said, and then he was almost jogging toward the stairs.

The moment the door closed, he allowed himself an uncomfortable shudder and shook out his limbs.  _ God _ that  _ buzzing. _

_ Please _ just let him be left alone until lunch.


	7. (Un)wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick tw for this chapter!!! brief, semi-descriptive homicidal thoughts directed at a child and thoughts of a child dying.
> 
> Dick is not having a good time.

Raven showed up that night with a strange bottle of liquid as well as an unshakable insistence that she’d need to be alone with Dick for a while. Dick didn’t know when she’d started making or keeping weird magical substances around for healing purposes, but… Well. He wasn’t surprised. She’d watched her teammates get hurt too many times in the past. Of course she’d start keeping that sort of thing around.

It wasn’t until Jason started snickering that Dick had the presence of mind to realize how it must sound for her to be dragging him out of the kitchen after dinner with the insistence they needed alone time.

He managed not to blush, and decided to settle Jason’s  _ nasty _ thoughts by loudly asking, “By the way, Rae, how are things with you and Star? You kiss her yet?”

Raven spluttered, and from the kitchen he heard Jason wheeze.

He got a sharp smack on his left shoulder from Raven for his troubles, but she really seemed more embarrassed than angry, so at least there was that.

“Would you rather them know you’ve got a crush on Kori or them think you’re trying to have sex with me?” He asked, quirking a brow, and she huffed in a way that told him she hadn’t considered that and she would  _ definitely _ prefer they know she had a crush on Kori.

“No, I haven’t kissed her.” She said, loud enough that the others would be able to hear her, “To be honest I don’t think she’s even noticed I’ve been trying.”

“Oh, rip.” Dick said, genuinely sympathetic.

Once they reached his room, she instructed him to remove as much of his clothes as he was comfortable with, and considering she’d done first aid on him before he wasn’t all that bothered by setting aside his hoodie, tank top, and pants. Whatever. It was  _ Raven, _ he didn’t really care.

She instructed him to lay down on the bed, after that, and he jolted a bit when she poured out some of the liquid onto his back. It was cold. But then her hands were smearing it carefully across the bruises, shrouded in her powers (which were  _ also _ cold, thanks) for whatever reason she had for that. He imagined it was probably to help the healing process, or to activate whatever the liquid was if it needed that.

Given the fact that his body stopped tingling and some of the pain faded, he found he didn’t care very much.

“So was that ointment  _ supposed _ to make my skin feel like it was vibrating?” He asked, while she worked the liquid into the outside of his right thigh.

She paused. “... It should only do that if for some reason it doesn’t start working immediately. How long was it doing it?”

“Literally all the way up until you started with this.”

Her silence was one that oozed concern. He didn’t like the connotations of that.

“Well, it  _ is _ a fairly severe set of injuries,” She said, after a moment, “Maybe it was only working at the surface level or needed a little extra magical push.”

“What is this stuff, anyway?” He asked, craning his neck a little to watch her while she almost awkwardly began to rub it into his left thigh. He was aware he was changing the subject just a little bit, but it was better than lingering on the concern.

“Special healing potion,” She said, “My mom made it. It should make all of this go away before the week is over.”

“Cool,” He said.

Raven didn’t reply, and the room was quiet after that. She finished up applying the potion, then spent a few moments making sure she’d magically activated all of it.

The silence was minorly uncomfortable, but there was nothing Dick could think of to say or do to make it less so. He didn’t have near as much in common with Raven now, probably, as he had before he died. There was so much that he didn’t know and probably  _ wouldn’t ever  _ know about the years he was gone. He could  _ ask, _ sure, but… Well.

He was no stranger to having things you just really,  _ really _ did not want to tell someone about.

So he stayed quiet.

Finally, after several moments of silence, Raven moved away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He shifted as carefully as he could so he could sit up and look at her. It was quiet again, and she just sort of watched him during that silence. He was just glad that  _ that _ didn’t feel uncomfortable. Raven had always done that.

“It’s been a long seven years,” She finally sighed, curling herself up a bit there on the edge of the bed, “It’s still… I’m still having a hard time believing you’re here.”

“That’s fair.” He said, hugging his knees and ignoring the pain it caused. “I’m having a hard time believing I’m here, too.”

“I’m going to ask an insensitive question,” Raven warned him, after that.

“Okay?”

“Do you remember being dead? Anything at all about it?”

“Not really,” He said, and he wasn’t sure how that was an insensitive question. She had every right to want to know. But… Well. Maybe anyone else would find it insensitive. Maybe he was just used to taking that sort of thing in stride. “I guess I sort of remember it? But it’s just… Everything was black for a long time. And then I woke up in a dumpster.”

She nodded, slowly. “If you ever did remember anything about it, would you tell me?”

“You’d be the first to know,” He promised.

* * *

He spent the next couple of days watching his bruises fade and feeling his body actually start to respond the way he wanted it to and the way that it was supposed to. But while his body started healing, he found his brain was… Not doing quite so well. His temper, which he really liked to think he had pretty okay control of after all that meditating with Raven, was…

Ugh. It was ugh.

Everything pissed him off and he hated it, which put him in a worse mood, which just made it easier for everything to piss him off. And Raven was too busy to come back to the Manor to help him work through it so that he’d calm down, so he just had to try and do it alone. He just… Wasn’t actually good at that. Especially when he wasn’t sure what the actual problem was, or if it was just one problem.

Still.

He tried to spend time with his brothers, tried to at least get to know them and start hanging around them, but… Well. Jason and Tim were one matter―Dick liked them, and they were pretty much willing to just do their thing while he was there and let him join in when he felt up to it. They also seemed to sort of have a sense of humor in common, or at least didn’t mind each others’ senses of humor, and Dick liked it. They felt comfortable, as long as he was in the mood to hang out and wasn’t feeling weirdly bitter about them being here at all.

Damian was another matter entirely.

Damian was… Ugh.

They didn’t exactly get along. The kid was a shit,  _ way _ worse than Dick expected him to be. He acted like he knew everything, like he was in control of everything and everyone else needed to listen to him. He  _ also, _ it seemed, when he was feeling particularly difficult, liked to lord his status as Bruce’s only  _ blood _ child over his brothers.

Tim and Jason didn’t really seem to mind all that much, really. Mostly they rolled their eyes through his jabs, and on one notable occasion Tim replied, “Craving some IcyHot, are we?”

And Damian promptly shut up.

Dick wasn’t sure he wanted to know the context.

He also wasn’t sure that it really mattered, not as long as it made the little shithead shut up for a couple of minutes.

No, Dick didn’t like Damian. He was still willing to give him a shot, treat him well― _ God _ knew that if everyone had given up on him when  _ he _ was 12 and full of spite and self-righteous, suicidal bullshit he’d have never gotten anywhere―, but the kid made it… Hard. Again, though! He was willing. He knew he’d never have gotten where he was if people gave up on  _ him _ when he was that age and acting like a tool. He knew he’d made it  _ really _ hard for a lot of people around him, especially Bruce and Alfred.

Mostly Alfred.

Hard to make it difficult for someone who didn’t care as long as you didn’t get shot.

Cough cough,  _ Bruce. _

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t even all Damian’s fault anyway. Maybe Dick was just picking holes in everything because he was feeling bitter. Maybe he was just…  _ Really fucking bitter. _ That’d make sense, right? And projecting it onto Damian would  _ also _ make sense.

Because Damian was something he wasn’t. Couldn’t be.

He was Bruce’s  _ son. _

Bruce loved him, cared about him. Had gone through enough to have learned to show him he cared.

Bruce hugged him, ruffled his hair from time to time, made sure he ate and got his schoolwork done and went to bed at a decent time. Told him he was proud of him.  _ Told _ him he loved him. Made sure he was happy and comfortable and ready to take on the world.

Damian, and to a somewhat lesser extent Jason and Tim, got everything from Bruce that Dick had always kind of wanted.

Fuck, the two years he spent here alone with Bruce as Robin he’d never  _ once _ heard the man tell him he was proud of him. He’d hugged him maybe once in a blue moon, and if Dick didn’t show up to a meal? It didn’t matter, Bruce didn’t care. He didn’t have a set schedule for schoolwork, so Bruce didn’t care if he got it done. He pulled all-nighters seven nights a week and Bruce  _ didn’t care. _

That said? Not all of it was projection. Maybe none of it was at all, but he knew that, at the very least? He honestly did not like this kid for his attitude.

Especially right now.

Dick was no stranger to wanting to hurt and or actually kill someone. He’d had the urge more times than he could count, especially after studying under Slade during his brief tenure as Red X. It had been sort of rare before that―he was more likely to want to hurt them than kill them. Afterwards, the kill instinct was an ingrained response.

He just… Ignored it, you know?

But he’d, erm.

“I think you need to remember who the  _ blood _ son is.” Damian snarked, all pompous and full of himself and  _ venomous _ like the dirty little snake he was.

He’d never wanted to kill a kid before.

But  _ God _ did he. He wanted to strangle the little fucker with his bare hands. Just wrap them around his thin little throat and  _ squeeze. _ It only took, what, seven pounds of pressure to crush an adult’s windpipe? He’d barely even have to try and it’d be over. Just like that. The kid would be  _ gone _ and it’d be over. No more snark. No more venom. No more parading his status around like some twisted badge of honor over his adopted brothers.

“I think  _ you,” _ Dick found himself biting back at the kid, “Need to remember who he  _ picked _ first. At least I know he  _ wanted _ me.”

And it was a lie, sort of. Bruce took him in more out of necessity than desire for his presence. They’d needed each other and if Bruce hadn’t taken him in, he’d have died. No question. He’d have gotten himself killed and he proved quickly to Bruce that not letting him help was worse than not taking him in the first place.

Bruce took him in and kept him around because he’d had to.

Knowing the truth stung him something  _ fierce, _ but the words had their desired effect. Damian went a little pale, mouth dropping open as if he wanted to reply, but his brain just wouldn’t summon the words, or the words were stuck in his throat. He looked a little hurt, definitely a little shell-shocked, and Dick felt  _ very _ satisfied.

But he still wanted to strangle him, so he turned and walked off before he could do anything stupid.

…

It didn’t dawn on him until he’d closed his door that he’d  _ honestly _ wanted to kill Damian. Just for being kind of annoying. Kind of pompous.

He’d wanted to kill a  _ kid. _

God, he was so small. Dick could just… It would have been so easy.  _ So _ easy.

And he.

And he,

He would have done it.

He would have done it.

He would have strangled him, if that comment hadn’t shut him up.

He would have killed him.

He still might.

No one would be able to stop him. Bruce, Tim, and Jason were gone and Alfred would never get there in time. It would be so easy. Just grab him and squeeze and he’d be gone. Light in his eyes fading away while his body ceased being able to struggle.

That thought,  _ that thought _ gut-punched him so hard he had to scramble to the bathroom to throw up.

Oh God.

_ Oh, God. _

Fuck.

Fuck.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

_ What the fuck was wrong with him? _


	8. Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter put me over 600K total words written on AO3 :oooo so that's neat!

Raven, when she finally came to see him, was understandably just as distraught as he was by the fact that he’d very nearly killed Damian.

But she’d told him to just keep trying, try to stay calm and maintain his distance emotionally. Maybe trying to be emotionally distant would be easier, would work out better, than trying to be sympathetic and trying to care about a kid who pissed him off so badly.

He took her advice, and it… Sort of worked.

Damian was less of a shit around him, seemed to realize that being a shit wouldn’t get him anywhere good with him, but he was still… Dick still didn’t like him. Was still willing to give him a shot and managed to make his emotional distance seem like something less spite-driven and more general lack of interest in getting into another argument with the kid.

Still.

He managed not to get into any more arguments.

But he also didn’t manage to stay in the same room as Damian for very long, most days. Emotional distance could only do so much when his temper was on the world’s faultiest tripwire. Damian’s very existence seemed to be getting him into a tizzy, now, so he had to try and keep his distance physically as well. He didn’t want to chance anything.

He was a shit, but no matter what his brain kept saying, he didn’t  _ want _ to hurt him.

He didn’t deserve it.

He was a shit, but Dick was  _ sixteen. _ He knew better.

He  _ knew better. _

Damian didn’t deserve that. Only full-grown adults who refused to change deserved him taking his anger out on them, and  _ only _ when the two issues directly correlated to each other. Or, you know, he could always take it out on the supervillains in town.

He just…

Had to get back into shape for that.

Thankfully, the nearly nightly patrols of his brothers with B proved a great time to try and work on it.

He finally went down there about a week and a half into being alive again. Down into the in-house gym, to the old punching bag and treadmills and acrobatics course. His heart was pounding in his throat while he stretched himself out, limbered himself up. He was still so horribly sore in so many places, so stiff, that it took a couple of hours to get his body twisting and bending the ways it was supposed to. The way he was used to it bending and twisting.

Bruce and the boys wouldn’t be back for another few hours, though, so he wasn’t too worried.

He stepped onto the treadmill first, reasoning that a jog would get his blood pumping and get his body back into the groove better than anything else.

So he jogged for a good thirty minutes and his body absolutely  _ sang _ at the familiar movements and the sudden quickening of his pulse, the long draws of measured breath as he stared ahead and settled into an easy pace. It felt good. It felt familiar and comfortable and  _ perfect. _

He went through the course that Bruce set up for him all those years ago, next, and he fucked up a few times, had to restart and try again, hurt himself a little once or twice, but within the hour he was doing it almost as quickly as he used to. It was like his body felt the seven years he’d been dead, while his head didn’t. For him, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks since he did this.

His body implied differently.

So he rolled with it. Worked until he was doing everything normally again.

He all but threw himself into working with the punching bag after that, and that was the weird one. That was the thing that actually gave him some pause.

Through the running and the acrobatics, he hadn’t felt weird. A little awkward as his body readjusted, but not… Not weird. Not like he felt when he threw a punch at the sandbag. Not like something in him was vibrating and it shouldn’t have been. He shook himself out, unsettled, and continued anyway.

The feeling didn’t go away, and it spiked his anger more than he wanted to admit to.

He barely restrained himself from repeating the trick he’d pulled when he was fourteen in this very room. He backed off, took a deep breath. His whole body felt like it was vibrating. That horrible static feeling the ointment had given him was back, but  _ worse. _

He shook himself out again. Tried again.

The anger surged again when the feeling persisted, and it was all he could do to back off and not send the bag flying. Not break it or the hook or chain holding it.

He’d spent too much time since he got back being angry, he thought, and wanting to kill something. Every time his anger flared up at all lately he felt  _ legitimately homicidal _ and it was driving him crazy. He hated it. It was ridiculous. Why should he be so angry? Why should he be standing in the gym in the Manor, panting from exertion and tingling from head to toe and wanting nothing more than to break somebody’s neck? Over a whole bunch of  _ nothing! _

Or, well, he knew not all of it could be classified as “nothing”, and he knew pretending he wasn’t angry was a good way to make him cling to it forever, but… God. There were supposed to be healthy ways to work this shit out, right? He needed to learn how to do that.

This felt  _ wrong. _

He gave up on the punching bag for the night and went back to the treadmill.

Might as well try to wind down with a nice, hard run. Maybe he’d be able to sleep through the night if he tuckered himself out enough. That was usually how it worked, anyway, so why should it be any different now than it was before he died? Aside from being a nudge away from full-on homicidal rage most days since coming back, nothing felt different. He was still himself, just on a very short fuse.

It wasn’t exactly news to him, really. He’d always had a temper.

He just.

He didn’t realize it was this bad. And maybe it wasn’t before he died. Maybe this really was a new development.

Still, he ran on the treadmill until he felt sort of shaky, and then he headed off to shower and go to bed. Curled up and told himself he’d try again tomorrow.

He tried again the next night, after he spent the afternoon with his little brothers (did Jason really count as a “little” brother? Dick was born before he was, but Jason was older than he was now), and it was pretty much the same song and dance as it had been the previous night. He was too angry to get any work done with the punching bag without fear that he’d break it. And maybe breaking it would help!

But he didn’t feel like it would.

Mostly he just felt like he’d feel like a burden for making Alfred replace it because he couldn’t control this new, weird homicidal urge.

So what could he do?

Going out in the field like this was out of the question. If he couldn’t control himself against a punching bag, he’d  _ actually _ kill someone out in the field. Not to mention that he didn’t have a new suit yet, and he didn’t think Bruce would let him out in the field until everyone was sure that he was okay anyway. Maybe he could just go see if they had any spare punching bags, gather up what he’d need to clean up and replace this one all on his own, and then just. Get it out.

… He went to see if they had any others.

Bruce had apparently learned from the past, because there was a room full of them.

He dragged two of them back to the Gym, grabbed a broom, a dustpan, and a large trash bag, and set it all off to the side.

And then he went after the punching bag with  _ extreme _ prejudice. The spike of anger at his buzzing skin made him go all out pretty much as soon as he started throwing punches. He could already feel the bruises forming on his knuckles from doing this bare-handed aside from some bandages and that, at least, felt right. That, at least, felt  _ normal. _

And with one flare of rage, he was sending the bag flying across the room and rolling across the floor. Unbroken, but thrown. He stalked to grab it, hung it back up, and started again. Felt his knuckles turn raw under the bandages and didn’t care. Just kept going until the next hit caught in just the right spot and the bag tore. He hit it again anyway. Ignored the sand beginning to spill and hit it again. And again. Until he flung it across the room again with a hard enough kick and ignored it where it lay in order to grab one of the others.

His shin felt bruised, too, and he ignored it just like he was ignoring his bruising knuckles.

Kept hitting the punching bag and only hit it harder and harder when the anger didn’t so much as fade. Didn’t so much as start to taper. Just seemed to get  _ worse, _ really.

He was crying by the time he broke the last punching bag.

Not desperately, not panicky like he’d been the last couple times he’d cried since coming back. Just… Leaking tears and breathing hard. He was still―still so  _ angry. _ It hadn’t so much as put a  _ dent _ in the anger to spend all this time hitting the bags. To drain all the energy out of himself, take the fight out of him. He wasn’t any less full of rage than he’d been before he started.

In fact, he thought he might feel  _ worse. _

Because he was still so  _ angry. _ He still― He still wanted to  _ kill _ something.

Doing this used to drain at least most of the anger out of him. Calm him down enough to sleep peacefully and give him enough space to start to actually calm down. Got him to at least be able to  _ think _ and not be snappy every waking moment.

Shaking, somewhat, and aching from how hard he’d pushed himself and the bruises he wasn’t going to be able to hide or ignore, he cleaned up the mess he’d made. Even took the trash bag out and hung up a new punching bag so that no one would ever have to know what happened.

He scrubbed his face clean, breathing deep, and pushed the feelings as far away as he could. If he couldn’t fight them out, he would just have to try and ignore them until he could get some help from Raven sorting them out. He’d tried the thing  _ he _ knew usually worked, and since it hadn’t done anything he’d need help. He’d just have to wait for her to have some time.

In the meantime.

He.

He couldn’t go back out in the field.

Not until he sorted this out.

He’d kill someone. No question. No hesitation.

The first person he got into a fight with, he would kill.

And whoever walked back into the Manor after that wouldn’t be him. Just something wearing his skin.

He could  _ feel _ it.

So he found Alfred down in the Cave.

“They still out?” He asked, conversationally.

“Not due back for another couple of hours,” Alfred acknowledged, “How are you feeling, Master Dick?”

He grimaced, and Alfred’s sympathetic smile told him he understood and Dick didn’t need to say anything. Might as well cut to the chase, while he was here. “Have you started on a new suit yet?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Alfred said, sounding a little guilty, “Master Bruce―”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Dick raised a hand to stop him, “I, uh… I dunno what B said to get you to wait, or why he said it, but I really… I don’t think I’m ready to go back out there yet anyway. So I just…”

“... Wanted to ask me to wait, and make sure I hadn’t put in any ‘unnecessary’ effort?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Alfred nodded. “Very well, Master Dick. Do let me know when you feel you are ready.”

“I will. Thanks, Al.”

“But of course,” Alfred smiled, and went back to watching the screens in front of him.

Dick went back up into the manor to wait.

“Hey, B,” He said, and ignored his brothers pausing behind the man, “You got a sec?”

“Of course,” Bruce said, immediately, “What do you need?”

“Just to talk to ya for a sec, won’t take long.”

Bruce nodded, and motioned the other boys along.

They moved past with a mildly concerned and unsettled look shared between them.

Dick watched them and made sure they were well out of earshot before turning to Bruce, chewing his lips. Picking at the bandages on his knuckles. He wasn’t good at this―wasn’t good at talking  _ feelings. _ Not with Bruce. He’d never really been particularly responsive to  _ feelings _ unless they were fighting. Unless he thought Dick was out of line.

“Listen, B,” He sighed, eventually, forcing the words out, “I dunno if you’re, like, waiting for me or anything. To be ready to go out and help you again. Or at least go out and  _ do _ something instead of just sitting around here like some kind of  _ bum… _ But I― It’s gonna take a while. You know that, right? I― I can’t just jump back into this.”

Bruce blinked at him. Then blinked again. “... Dick,” He said, slowly, “I don’t expect you to get back into it at all. That’s your decision, I― I may have asked Alfred not to make you a new suit yet, but that was mostly out of concern for your safety.”

That did unknot a little bit of the weird, nasty feeling in his gut, but not much of it. He managed a tired smile. Shoved his hands into his pockets. “Nah, that’s… I get that. I appreciate it, B, really.”

He wasn’t expecting Bruce to offer him a hug, for that, but he did, and Dick… Well.

He was desperate for positive feedback from Bruce. He always had been. He’d always wanted some affection. Some real  _ love _ and Bruce  _ really _ giving a shit about him. Hadn’t gotten much that he could actually  _ tell _ was love or affection before. Ever.

He accepted the hug and tried not to break down over getting it.

And then he headed up to his room, closed the door, and laid down.


	9. Night Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a few of these today - I'm on a roll and I don't have the patience to space updates out if I have multiple chapters written. As many as I write today will get posted lmao

Dick hadn’t come out of his room except to eat in something like three days, and frankly? Jason was starting to get worried.

Sure, he knew better than anyone except Dick how shitty everything felt right after you came back to life. Especially if you’d been dead for a while. He knew that being around people was taxing and took a lot out of you. He knew that sometimes you wanted nothing more than to be left alone until you felt better. But thing was, like…

Dick had been doing so _well._

He’d been socializing with them pretty much since day one and while he didn’t seem fond of Damian he’d still been trying. And trying _hard._ He was a good actor but Jason knew those tense little lines around his eyes when Damian said something that hit the wrong place, knew that set of his jaw and the stone-like body language. He knew it because _he_ did it. And _he_ did it because he’d learned it from B. He knew that Dick was trying and _trying_ and that he’d asked to speak to Bruce alone the night before he sort of vanished off the face of the earth again didn’t exactly give Jason a warm and fuzzy feeling. He felt like something was _really,_ genuinely wrong.

… But Dick wouldn’t talk to him.

Wouldn’t talk to any of them.

He ate in silence when he came out to eat and then retreated without a sound.

Tim and Damian seemed to take it pretty personally. Like him staying in his room and not talking was a direct action taken against _them_ and not just… Dick going through some personal shit. He guessed he didn’t blame them, though―Tim didn’t usually get that treatment from anyone _without_ it being personal and Damian just didn’t get that treatment at all. It must feel pretty different to them. Not like it felt to him.

Sure, he was upset that Dick was here but was still completely inaccessible, but… Well. Again. He understood what Dick must be feeling. It all sucked pretty bad and he probably just needed time to work through it on his own instead of trying to socialize and pretend he didn’t feel like shit. Jason was willing to wait, and he guessed he’d just have to silently coach the other two into doing the same.

What was more worrying to him, though, was the obvious presence of bruises on Dick’s knuckles when he came to meals. No one said anything about it―frankly, Jason thought he might be the only one who noticed―, but both of his hands were almost black across his knuckles and parts of his actual fingers, and over the actual knuckle _bones_ the skin was broken and raw. Like he’d been punching something bare-handed, and a _lot._

He just hoped that Dick wasn’t going out and getting into fights while they were on patrol or something. He might be the younger brother, chronologically speaking, but he worried. A lot.

Sue him.

What little he knew of Dick and the large amount he knew of being recently resurrected gave him a great deal of reasons to _be_ worried. And _very_ worried.

But he couldn’t intrude. Couldn’t push it. Pushing it made it worse. The quickest way to alienate Dick and make him _not_ want any help and not want to talk to Jason at all would be to try and force his way in, especially right now.

But understanding didn’t make it suck any less to know that there was something _wrong_ and there was nothing he could do.

Some nights, not all of them went out patrolling. Some nights, one or two of them stayed behind for some reason or another.

There were nights they all stayed home, too, of course, but… Well. Those were rare. Less rare in the winter months than any of the warmer ones, and less rare any time that Tim or Damian had a larger workload than normal for their classes, but still not particularly common. At most, once a week. Typically less than once a month.

Tonight, Jason stayed home while B, Tim, and Damian went on patrol.

He was _technically_ here by choice, but also technically because Bruce had told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t push himself too hard after the kick in the ribs he’d gotten the night before, considering it had left him wheezing for hours afterwards even despite how fast he healed. He’d been going every night since Dick started staying in his room all day, hoping that it would give him some time to himself outside of his room.

He figured tonight he could just sleep and try to still give him that space.

They’d seen each other at dinner and Dick had seemed somehow even more closed off than he had the last few days. Jason didn’t want to bug him.

So he’d gone to bed soon after the others left.

He should have known it wouldn’t last, of course―he woke up gasping for breath some time later with throbbing pains in some all-too familiar places. Pains that faded the longer he laid there taking in breath. Pains that he knew very well weren’t real. Weren’t because of an injury he currently had.

But he and his body couldn’t forget the feeling of that _fucking crowbar_ and―

Hoo.

Okay.

He needed to get up, and he needed to go calm down. Like.

Now.

Maybe a run on one of the treadmills down in the gym.

He took the brief moments necessary to change out of his sleep clothes into something more suited for that and then he was pattering his way as quietly through the Manor as he could, down to the gym.

He was _not_ expecting to hear noises coming from it when he got there.

When he peeked in, he suddenly understood why Dick’s hands looked like that.

Because he was going after the punching bag with a vengeance, bare-knuckled except for some bandages. To keep him from bleeding? Or just to keep his knuckles aligned?

He didn’t want to interrupt him, but he didn’t look like he was going to stop any time soon.

He stood there for a moment, unsure, only to be startled by Dick’s voice suddenly piping up.

“You okay?” His big brother asked, voice gruff and a filled with an underlying tone that suggested something _beyond_ anger even in the face of how casual and calm he’d sounded.

“Just needed to take a run,” He decided to say, stepping in now that he knew Dick knew he was there, “You mind?”

“Knock yourself out.” Dick grunted.

Jason headed to the treadmill, and Dick didn’t say anything else to him. He chose not to say anything either. And it was silent for a while, aside from the consistent thumping of Dick’s fists against the sandbag and his own feet against the track. It was strangely comfortable. Definitely felt better than the last couple times he’d seen Dick. He still seemed like something was _wrong,_ but as selfish as it was, Jason was glad he was here. He was glad he was around for him to puzzle about.

It helped him calm down faster.

“You shouldn’t run too long. You barely ate today,” Dick piped up again, long after he’d gotten calm, still gruff and maybe a little winded.

“Fair point,” Jason said, and hoped Dick didn’t notice the slight wheeze.

God, Killer Croc had _fucked_ his ribs and lungs up yesterday. It was just a good thing that he wouldn’t die from it. Just be uncomfortable.

He almost felt bad for not listening to Bruce and taking a rest, but there wasn’t much else he could do.

Then, after a second, a little stunned as it processed, “Wait― You paid attention to _how much I ate?”_

“Sorry,” Dick grunted, “Is that creepy? Not much to do when I’m not talking except watch.”

“Not creepy,” Jason managed, as he slowed himself down and winced at how winded he suddenly was, “Just kinda surprising. Didn’t think you were really quite there except physically.”

Dick hummed.

Jason didn’t want to stop running. He didn’t want to end this weird calm he had with Dick. He didn’t want to give up the brief time he had with his big brother. Didn’t want to give up being able to sort of talk to him. But the longer he ran, the longer it’d take his ribs to heal up and the longer Bruce would tell him to stay off-duty, which was… Ugh. He liked his nights off, but he couldn’t take too many in a row without feeling like he was going to crawl right out of his skin.

He slowed down a little further.

Felt just a little nasty when he finally slowed to a stop and caught his breath with a wheeze. He didn’t want to just… Leave Dick down here alone. He wanted to give him his space, but he enjoyed just sort of existing near him. His presence was… Oddly comforting. He didn’t even have to speak or do anything.

Just knowing he was there was nice, especially when Jason’s mind was still calling back to the feeling of a crowbar crashing down against his body repeatedly.

The first Robin could protect him, right?

Of course he could.

That was one thing everyone agreed on. Everyone he’d ever spoken to had told him that Dick was terrifyingly strong and efficient in a fight, and fiercely protective too. He might not be close to Dick, but… Well. He hoped Dick would protect him anyway.

If he needed protecting, that was.

He didn’t.

He was safe, he was fine, and he could take care of himself.

But still.

The feeling was there.

He caught his breath and stepped off the treadmill. Paused and watched Dick for a few moments. Dick didn’t acknowledge his staring, didn’t even glance in his direction―just kept at it with that scarily cold, angry expression. Was he angry that Jason was here? Would he tell him if he was?

Finally, with a hit more forceful than his knuckles could probably reasonably take, Dick backed away from the punching bag. Took a deep breath, then another one.

Turned to him and watched him right back without a word.

Jason almost wanted to shrink under his gaze, but he held himself as well as he could. He knew he wasn’t half the actor that B or Tim or Damian were, and apparently not as good an actor as Dick either, but he hoped it worked. He hoped he didn’t look nervous or intimidated.

And Dick’s expression didn’t change for a long moment, until slowly, _slowly,_ the anger melted out of his face and he looked… Sad. Sympathetic. Understanding.

“You should eat,” The first Robin said, voice still gruff but less angry now.

“Probably,” Jason agreed, and almost winced at how weak his voice came out.

It got a soft little half-smile from Dick.

The guy just headed for the door, and it took Jason a second to snap out of his mild confusion in order to follow him. Dick flicked off the lights in the room as he went, and Jason unconsciously sped up to fall into step closer behind him. Right on his heels, almost, and Dick didn’t really respond so he wasn’t sure he noticed or cared. He wasn’t sure if Dick _wanted_ him to follow him, but… He felt like he did.

Dick led him to the kitchen, flicking on the overhead light.

“You ever made an ice cream cake?” He asked, and Jason blinked at him.

Dick threw him a look as he dug through the freezer. He gave a soft little half-laugh and turned back to the freezer.

“Guess that’s a no.” He said, and all the anger that was there before seemed to be gone, “I’ll teach you. C’mere.”

So Jason obeyed.

And Dick took him through the steps―he was a surprisingly patient teacher. He was willing to repeat himself without sounding even remotely annoyed, and he explained the hows and whys when Jason worked up the nerve to ask. In the end, Dick put their combined creation into the freezer to set up, and pulled out… Another one?

“Want some?” He asked, while he carefully cut it into average-sized pieces.

“... Yeah, that’d be great.” Jason couldn’t help sounding a little blown away. A little awestruck. “Thank you.”

Dick smiled.

Handed him a plate already loaded with a slice of ice cream cake.

Got himself a piece before Jason could even really process having the plate, put the cake back in the freezer, and hoisted himself gracelessly up onto the counter to dig in. Jason’s brain caught up with him about that moment, and flushing he got comfortable on his usual stool.

They didn’t talk while they ate, but it was just as comfortable as being in the gym together, doing their own thing.

“... Might not be my business,” Dick finally said, after setting his plate in the sink at his side, “And you’re free to not answer me, but… I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

“I did,” Jason answered, a little ruefully.

Dick watched him with that oddly blank face for a moment, then slowly nodded as the sympathy and understanding warmed his expression again. He seemed to understand fully without being told, because the next thing he said was, “Doing something helps when you can’t go back to sleep.”

Jason nodded. Then, hesitantly, “Are you still up, or…?”

With a somewhat bitter smile, Dick said, “I have a hard time sleeping at night.” He paused, glancing away, “Or at all, lately.”

“Same.” Jason intoned.

It was quiet again.

Dick hopped down off the counter, plucked his plate right out of his hands, and set about washing both of their plates and their forks.

Just these little, barely conversational moments with Dick told him so much about him as a person. More than he ever thought he’d know about the guy. He had trouble sleeping, _probably_ had night terrors like Jason did. He refused to go after a punching bag with proper hand protection. He knew how to make ice cream cake, and insisted on doing all of his own dishes. He was understanding. He was still just as angry as he’d implied himself to be prior to his death, and very good at hiding it or deflecting from it. He was battle-hardened and icy, but so, _so_ warm and soft if given a chance.

Dick really was just… Like…

A regular person.

But he was also, like, _definitely not a regular person._

Before Jason went much further down that train of thought, Dick was wiping his hands on a hand towel and cocking his head at him. Examining him again. Critical and a little cold.

“Go back to bed, Little Wing.” He finally sighed, “You look exhausted.”

“I― Yeah. Okay.” Jason couldn’t even make himself protest.

He.

Dick had called him by a nickname.

Up until now, in the almost two weeks they’d known each other, Dick had only ever called him Jason. Not Jay. Not any other diminutive of his name or clever nicknames. _Always_ Jason.

But he’d called him by a nickname.

He almost started beaming right then and there.

“Night, D,” He said, almost a little lamely, after standing there like a dumbass for a moment.

And Dick smiled. “Night, Little Wing.”

Jason made his way back to his room feeling warm and a little more settled than he had when he’d initially gone to bed.

Bruce made him stay home the next night more than he decided to.

An x-ray had shown that he had some serious internal damage and still needed time to recuperate, so he was officially off-duty. And, more than that,  _ not allowed to work out _ after he’d done it last night. Bruce knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t listen to the advice to take it easy if he wasn’t told explicitly not to exercise  _ at all. _

But that didn’t stop him, when he inevitably woke up breathing hard, from making his way down to the gym. Hoping. Hoping Dick would be down there again.

Was Dick hurting himself? Yes. Was it healthy? Absolutely not.

But if he was there, then Jason knew where he was and him working out just gave his brain fuel for the idea that Dick could and would protect him if he couldn’t protect himself.

He peeked around the door and found Dick doing much the same as he had last night. With that same cold, dead look in his eyes and the angry set of his jaw.

Jason didn’t say anything.

Just stepped in, sat down against the wall, and laid his head on his knees. Closed his eyes and listened to Dick go after the punching bag like it had personally offended him. Dick didn’t acknowledge his presence or question why he was there. Just kept at it.

And the next thing he knew, he was being gently nudged.

He lifted his head, blinking, to find Dick squatted in front of him.

He didn’t ask if he was alright, which Jason appreciated. He just cocked an eyebrow. And Jason gave him an exhausted smile, because he was, you know,  _ exhausted, _ and after a second Dick returned it.

“Wanna try that ice cream cake we made last night?” Was the first thing Dick actually said to him the whole day.

Jason nodded, not having the energy to actually respond verbally, and Dick helped him to his feet and took him to the kitchen. He held his hand the whole way and Jason had never felt so protected just from what was generally the bare minimum of touch. Then again, the feeling of being protected was more likely to stem from Dick being there at all than Dick holding his hand while he led him.

They tried the cake together, in silence, and Jason just felt more exhausted now than he had before. It was just that it was almost a good exhaustion. Not the “I’ve had two night terrors in as many nights and I’m tired” exhaustion. More… “I’m comfortable and safe” exhaustion.

… Funny.

He hadn’t even actually  _ known _ known Dick for a week yet. He knew… Almost nothing about him. He knew he had a temper and he was a good actor and that was…

That was kind of it.

But he made him feel safe, and that was worth its weight in gold to Jason.

“Hey, D?” He asked, eventually, voice still a little raw from crying before he’d gone to find him and then not speaking for however long it had been.

Dick threw him a glance while he did their dishes.

“... Do you remember dying?”

Dick threw him another look, this one somewhat more considering. Then, taking a breath, he nodded. “I do. To an extent, at least.”

Jason nodded, because he was in pretty much the same boat. He remembered, but he didn’t remember all of it. He remembered the crowbar for sure.

“Mostly I remember the part right before the bomb.” Dick said, after another moment. He almost sounded… Casual. Conversational, like he was throwing out a random fun fact or something. “It landing, the beeping.” Quieter, almost too quiet to hear, “... Wondering if I still had time to run.”

Jason winced, to himself, because… Well.

Dick just gave a soft, bitter laugh, and uttered, “But, well, obviously I didn’t.”

Jason hummed, nodding a little.

“... Do you?” Dick finally asked, after a silence.

“Mhm,” Jason confirmed, “Mostly him talking a lot of smack before he started, y’know. Beating me to death.”

It got a little sympathetic sort of wince―or would it be empathetic? Regardless, Dick winced at that response, but nodded and looked like he understood a lot more about Jason now just through that one answer.

“Some hot lavender and honey tea before bed might help keep away nightmares,” Dick finally said, like he was thinking, “There was this specific type that Raven used to make…”

And eventually, Dick led him up to his room and made sure he went to bed.

Jason didn’t relax until he heard Dick’s bedroom door close.

After that, he slept.


	10. Belonging

Staying in his room didn’t really help Dick feel any better, at the end of the day, but he knew it was for the best that he keep contact with his brothers to a minimum. That he keep contact with Bruce to a minimum.

He wasn’t glad when Jay apparently got hurt and had to stay home ‘just in case’, but he was glad that… He was glad that it was Jason instead of anyone else. Because Jason? Jason would understand. And Jason seemed to have absolutely zero intention of bothering him, but with none of the huff and offense Tim and Damian seemed to have about not bothering him.

And true to what he’d expected, Jason didn’t so much as  _ try _ to bother him.

He went straight to bed without a word.

… Until he walked into the gym at almost one in the morning, looking shaken and a little frantic.

Dick didn’t mind him being around, somewhere off behind him on a treadmill. He didn’t mind because Jason didn’t talk. He didn’t try to fill the space between them with chatter, didn’t bombard him with questions about whether or not he was alright. He just did his own thing while existing nearby and it was a lot like hanging out with Raven, so that in and of itself made him less inclined to not enjoy it. He liked being able to have casual silence. To hang out with someone while both of them did their own thing in each other’s general vicinity.

Still.

Too much running wouldn’t be healthy for Jason considering he’d picked at all three of his meals today and ate maybe seven or eight bites. So he allowed the big brother instinct to take over and told Jason he should probably not run too much. He was surprised how fast Jason agreed without question, and a little bit amused by how long it took the poor kid’s brain to process that he knew he hadn’t eaten much.

He hadn’t been amused by the way Jason’s breath wheezed in and out of his lungs a little while he tried to catch his breath. He guessed Bruce had had a reason for keeping him home, after all.

And Jason was obviously still concerned about something.

So he took him to the kitchen and he showed him how to make an ice cream cake, because that was what Dick always did when he couldn’t sleep after a nightmare. Especially if he was hurt and couldn’t just work the fear out of his bones. And Jason was a little bit of a slow learner, but eager and he seemed to have a little bit of fun with it.

He felt probably more connected to Jason than he currently did to Raven, if he was honest, and he still knew Raven  _ far _ better than he knew Jason.

He guessed it was the common trauma.

Which was sort of proven right when Jason had another nightmare―he could tell it was a nightmare, he  _ knew _ he wasn’t  _ stupid― _ the very next night. Dick usually had them several nights in a row, too. Especially if he couldn’t work it all off. Work himself to sleep so he wouldn’t have one.

He wasn’t expecting Jason to just come in and sit down, and for him to  _ fall back asleep _ sitting there, but he guessed those were the breaks.

It also told him a lot more about Jason than he really needed to learn in one fell swoop. But whatever―common trauma worked for bonding, he guessed.

So when he was done futilely trying to work out his anger on the punching bag, he woke the kid up and took him to eat some ice cream cake. Because ice cream cake usually made  _ him _ feel better.

Eventually he sent him back to bed again, and went to bed himself in hopes that he wouldn’t have his own night terror. Lord knew he hadn’t slept enough the last few days as it was. He didn’t need to wake up here in about two hours gasping for breath and clinging to the  _ reasonable _ thought that he was okay and there was absolutely nothing wrong. He was alive again.

He sort of just laid there for a while, until he heard the sounds of Damian and Tim trudging to their rooms.

He was somewhat surprised when there was a soft knock on his door.

But he sat up and said, “Come in,” anyway.

If someone was knocking on his door at almost three in the morning, it was probably important.

Or it was someone finally checking on him, but… Either way.

Bruce peeked his head in after a moment, taking in the dark room and Dick sitting up on the bed. He looked tired, but no worse for the wear. Probably hadn’t been all that rough of a night.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, softly, having stepped in and mostly closed the door behind him.

“Fine, I guess,” Dick managed, a little confused but overall not bothered. If Bruce wanted to actually come and try to talk feelings with him he guessed he wouldn’t object. It was something he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? So why fight it? “You?”

“Oh, no worse than usual,” Bruce said, with a little laugh, but then… He frowned. “Alfred says you’ve been making a lot of ice cream cakes lately.”

“Something to do with my hands,” He shrugged, “I can only work out so much.”

Bruce nodded, like that made all the sense in the world, and seemed to relax a little bit. Not much, but a little. “You can tell me if you need anything, you know that, right?”

“‘Course,” He said, even though he didn’t know that. And he didn’t necessarily believe it, either. “But I’m fine, promise. Just… Processing, mostly. Getting used to everything.”

Bruce nodded again, “Alright. Well… Goodnight, Dick.”

“‘Night, B.”

Bruce hesitated, but ultimately stepped out and closed the door without doing or saying anything else.

Honestly? Dick was just glad that he was gone.

It felt weird to be getting anything positive from Bruce. Like.  _ Really _ weird. Uncomfortable. Aside from the occasional comment on how he’d done a good job, way back when, he hadn’t gotten a whole lot. He especially hadn’t gotten constant reminders that Bruce was there if he needed him.

He’d never even been told that Bruce was there for him in the first place.

That had always been Alfred’s deal.  _ Alfred _ was there if he needed him and Dick never wanted to bother him so he never went to him anyway. Not even when he needed to. Not even when going to Alfred was the best idea, or when Alfred didn’t even have anything else to do.

Having support offered to him was weird, but especially from Bruce. And he was starting to realize that even when it was offered he rarely took it―he took it most from Raven, and that was primarily because he’d gotten his ear chewed off by her far too many times for pretending he was fine when she could  _ tell _ that he wasn’t.

Sighing, he laid back down and listened to Bruce checking in on the other three, then retreating back down the stairs.

Counted to ten, took a deep breath.

Counted to ten, released it.

Repeated and repeated until his breathing was steady and deep and he tricked his body into falling asleep.

He wasn’t sure why seeing (or, rather,  _ hearing, _ in this case) his little brothers take Bruce up on his “I’m here if you need anything” spiel made him so angry.

By all means, knowing that Bruce had turned into the sort of guy who actually gave a shit and helped the people he claimed to care about should make him happy. Because he’d done that to him―he must have. Bruce had learned from him and how he’d reacted and he’d put it all into practice. And, sure, Bruce still came off as cold and could be pretty insensitive even to his brothers, but he was overall a warmer and more personable individual than he’d ever been when Dick was his Robin. So he should be happy, right? His brothers got the help they needed and didn’t have to feel weak for asking for it.

… But it pissed him off.

It pissed him off  _ so bad. _

Beyond the door, he could hear Tim and Bruce talking. Dick had been standing here long enough to know that Tim had been crying less than three minutes ago.

Was that creepy? That he’d been standing here for at least three minutes, just  _ listening? _

Probably.

But it didn’t matter.

He couldn’t make out exactly what Tim was saying, but he could guess, mostly. It was standard fare for someone his age, really. Usual feelings and emotions and things that it always helped to have someone else to assist in putting to rest. Things Dick  _ still _ felt. Had never stopped feeling or being worried about.

And Bruce was comforting him through it, voice soft and soothing and.

And he’d never done that for Dick.

Never even offered.

Not until after he’d come back after being  _ dead for seven years. _

And it boiled his fucking  _ blood. _

Bruce was so fucking  _ good _ to these three, so loving and open and actually a  _ father _ to them and it was like Dick hadn’t even ever fucking mattered to him. Not until he died. Not until he came back. Bruce had pushed him to his limits at all times and trained him until his body was the strongest it could get at his age and pushed him to get stronger  _ anyway. _ He’d been cold and distant and instead of teaching Dick to talk about his problems and try to get help he’d only really taught him to bottle them up and push them away until they exploded.

He’d reprimanded him for his temper and told him not to be stupid and generally didn’t speak a positive word to him until he went above and beyond what was asked of him. And then he got shot  _ once _ and not even in a place that really stopped him from doing his job and Bruce had flipped. Took him off duty.

He guessed maybe that had been Bruce attempting to give a shit, but it had only been a point of contention, really. Bruce had drilled the patrol schedule into his head, drilled the actual  _ patrol _ into his head. Had pushed him and pushed him and pushed him and conditioned him and being taken off duty for something like a  _ bullet _ was just… He’d hated it.

And he wasn’t sure if he’d hated  _ that _ or knowing that Bruce tried harder for these kids more.

How dare he?

… But, at the same time? Even past all the anger he was feeling and the way he wanted to scream and to cry?

He was glad.

He really was.  _ Really. _

These kids deserved that―they deserved better than what Dick had gotten. They deserved someone who would train them, but would also  _ give a shit about them. _ They deserved to grow up at least as well adjusted as Bruce could make them. They deserved good things and he was so happy they were getting them. So happy that Bruce had  _ learned. _

But  _ fuck. _

Where was all of this when Dick had needed it most?

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to turn away from the door. He hadn’t come here for this. He’d come here to go into the library, but it was occupied, so he’d have to do something else. Find something else to do with his hands. He was trying to spend time outside of his room again, trying to not hole himself up all the time. Work slowly back into being around his new brothers, two of whom seemed to have taken his week or so of general solitude personally.

Whatever.

He could work on their relationship when they felt like letting him and he felt up to trying.

Jason, at least, had taken him coming back out of his room in stride. He didn’t go out of his way to hang out with him, but if they happened to be doing things in the same room Jason also didn’t go out of his way to leave. He went about his business, made small talk when Dick initiated it, and smiled more and more throughout their encounters as Dick got a little less bad at talking and put less physical space between them while they were around each other.

Hanging out with Jason still felt sort of nice. Definitely better than hanging around Bruce or being in the same room as his other two brothers. Damian still made him angry just by being around and Tim was… Ugh. Not doing much better. Bruce just made him feel a different kind of anger―a cold, creeping sort of anger. Something deep and horrible.

Resentment.

But Jason was… Comfortable.

Hanging around Jason actually sort of felt like home.

But, catching sight of that damned portrait on the wall, the one with Bruce and the other three, he never felt less like the Manor was his home.

… He didn’t belong here.

He crossed his arms over his stomach like that would help him keep his shit together and kept walking. Walked past the portrait of him and Bruce and felt sick.

He didn’t belong here.

He shouldn’t be here.

This wasn’t his home anymore.

He should never have come back.

He swallowed a slice of ice cream cake like it was nothing even though it settled like cement in his stomach and forced himself not to make a new cake. He’d made too many already. He needed to stop.

He sat down at the island and swallowed down the sick feeling. The threat of that slice of cake coming back up. Tried to breathe steady and shake away the thoughts, the little voice telling him he should just disappear back out of their lives like he’d never come back. He should just go back to not existing.

The voice was…

It took some doing to make himself think,  _ The voice is wrong. I do belong here. This is my home. _

It still felt like a lie when he finally thought it.

“You look like you’re gonna throw up,” Jason’s voice cut through his thoughts, and the guy looked worried, but seemed to be trying to be casual about it.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” Dick snorted, shifting.

Jason gave him a sympathetic grimace.

And for a second, that little voice in the back of his head shut up…

Before it started again with a vengeance.

Jason could like him and make him feel comfortable all he wanted, but Jason didn’t belong here either. There wasn’t much comfort to actually be found there―that he only found any companionship in the only  _ other _ dead boy walking in the family. That he only felt sort of normal with him.

… He guessed his brain was just determined to make today a bad day.

Because he didn’t normally think of Jason like that―usually didn’t even think about Jason having been dead and having come back. It didn’t usually matter to him. It only mattered, apparently, when his brain was trying to make him feel like shit.

He made it through the rest of his time with Jason and went back to his room and laid down. Tried not to feel sick.

He didn’t belong here.

His motorcycle was still in the garage, and it still had the little Robin stickers on it that he’d put there when he was 13. Still had the Nightwing one that he’d slapped on there a few weeks before he died.

He sat on the floor of the garage for an hour and slowly,  _ painstakingly _ scraped them all off. Glued them to the front of an old three-ring binder and put it on his dresser with his domino mask and his Nightwing gear, sans his suit.

Considered taking any of it with him, but thought better of it.

Sat down to wait.

Bruce got home at about three-thirty, with three very tired side-kicks. Dick waited in his room for all of the kids to go to bed, and for Bruce to make his usual rounds to make sure they’d gone to bed. Didn’t respond to Bruce knocking on his door, and Bruce moved on.

Waited until he thought Bruce was probably in bed, too.

Stood and grabbed the drawstring bag at his feet. Slipped it over one of his shoulders and quietly made his way back down to the garage. The issue with this was that Alfred was probably going to see him, but that was why he’d waited until after Bruce got home. Might as well give the illusion that he’d spoken to Bruce before…

Well.

He grabbed the handles of his motorcycle, throwing a leg over the seat and straddling it. He felt off-balance, but there wasn’t much he could do. He hadn’t driven since before he’d died and that had been almost two months ago by his estimate. Or, well… You know. As far as his brain was concerned.

He was well-aware it had been seven years, it was just…

Not for him, it hadn’t been.

“Going out, Master Dick?”

Alfred’s voice made him jump a little, but he tossed the man a tired, weak attempt at a smile anyway. “Something like that.” He said, glancing at the now rising garage door and swallowing. “... Thanks, Alfred.”

“Of course, Master Dick. Do be careful.”

“Sure thing.”

He started it up, riding on out of the garage and to the front gates, which stood open and ready for him already. He felt sick seeing them. Felt sick being outside of the Manor for the first time since Raven had brought him home.

Brought him back to the Manor, he meant.

He accelerated down the road into Gotham. Pulled in quietly at a gas station with his hood up to obscure him at least a  _ little _ bit because he knew the tank would need refilled for this. Filled up the tank. Got back onto the bike and pulled away with a little less money in his wallet and a full tank and no idea where he was going or what he planned to do.

He guessed it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t like he had anything particularly pressing to be doing. Or to be trying to do. He’d been hanging around the Manor ever since he’d come back and he had  _ nothing _ to do since he couldn’t go back into the field. Couldn’t go back to work.

He’d never been good at keeping himself occupied when he was off-duty.

Might as well start getting it figured out now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said it before but honestly I need to say it again - thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback!! I know I don't reply to comments as often as I should (or at all, right now) but I don't usually have the energy for direct interactions so just, let me say it here. Thank you!!!!!! All the comments and kudos are really nice and seeing them really makes my day.
> 
> To answer a question someone asked in the comments, though: I'm not actually sure where this idea came from! I have this bad habit of coming up with something either entirely on the fly or because I had a direct inspiration that I can't remember later on. I know a lot of the inspiration was from just getting back into the fandom after a long couple of years of not being super interested in it, but as for what specifically inspired me I'm not sure ;w; I know there was _something_ but my brain is swiss cheese, so ;w;


	11. Missing?

Dick had been making a lot of progress, and Jason was proud of him for every bit of it. He knew, he  _ knew _ how hard the adjustment was, knew it wouldn’t stop being hard and knew that sometimes it would sort of sneak up on you. But Dick was doing well, better than Jason had for sure, and he was even making a tenuous sort of reach toward their other brothers again. Nothing immediately noticeable, nothing invasive.

Just a small reach.

Allowing himself to be nearby and staying open to a possible conversation.

But Dick hadn’t seemed like he felt particularly great the day before. He’d seemed sick. Sort of emotionally distant in a way Jason knew all too well. He was lost in his thoughts and the cold, dead look in his eyes said they weren’t good thoughts. Jason… Well. He could imagine what kind of thoughts they might be. But Jason had thoughts like that even  _ years _ after being resurrected.

It was natural for Dick to be having them.

And Jason always needed time to himself after he had a particularly bad day dealing with those thoughts, so he didn’t think much of it when Dick didn’t show up the next day. And when Dick showed up again the day after that, he was able to reassure himself that Dick was fine.

And Dick almost worked into a routine, it seemed. He’d generally hang around and be more open for about three days, have a noticeably bad day, isolate himself for a day, and try again. He’d been alive again for almost two months and while Jason didn’t cherish knowing his brain fucked him up every three days or so, it was nice to know that he wasn’t letting it keep him down. Dick was a lot of things, Jason was learning, but hard-headed was a big one. It must be pretty helpful for him while he was working through this that he didn’t seem to have an off-switch.

So, when Dick looked like he wasn’t feeling great again, Jason was prepared for him to not emerge from his room the next day.

… He was  _ not  _ prepared for him to not emerge the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that.

But he didn’t want to knock, didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his space and Jason wasn’t exactly a good judge of when someone needed him to step in on an emotional matter. Especially someone like Dick, who seemed to have trouble even expressing his emotions openly on purpose. He had to just wait. It wasn’t his place to intrude, you know? He just had no way of knowing if it was the right thing to do or not and he wasn’t willing to risk the already sort of strained relationship he had with his brother in order to drag him out of his room.

Bruce seemed to be getting concerned, as well, and that didn’t bode well.

But Jason still held off on knocking, and Bruce did as well.

When six days had passed with no word or noise from Dick’s room, Jason caved and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, but he was already here so he… Well. If Dick got mad at him for this, he got mad at him.

It was whatever. He’d take it if it meant that he at least knew that Dick was okay. Was taking care of himself and wasn’t starving himself to death in here.

He opened the door, and the first thing to hit him was the darkness.

“... Dick?” He asked, hesitantly stepping in and looking around.

The second thing that hit him was that the room was empty. There was no one else here. And the door to the en suite bathroom was open, so he could see that Dick wasn’t in there either. He took another hesitant step in, peering behind the door and finding nothing and no one.

“Big Bird?”

Another step in, moving quietly to the window to open the curtains just a little.

In the sunlight, he could see the bed was neatly made, with only some minor rumpling on the side, like someone had been sitting there. Everything else in the room seemed to be in order, certainly less dusty than the first time Jason had ever come in. He guessed that made sense, considering the fact that Alfred could get in here now without being hit with an emotional slap in the face.

Jason hadn’t really gotten a chance to look around, then.

He guessed it wouldn’t hurt to look around  _ now. _

So he did, with a gnawing sense of dread as his brain started to process that Dick really wasn’t in here and there wasn’t really anywhere else he could  _ be. _ Still, it didn’t stop him from snooping. From looking at his belongings and trying to piece together the shaky puzzle he had of his big brother. The countless math and science achievement awards all arranged carefully around his desk, the Haly’s Circus poster hung at the head of his bed. The desk itself, in disarray and scattered with papers and writing tools. Looking at the papers showed several of them were from before he’d died, but there were some recent-looking pencil doodles and what seemed to be an attempt to journal.

Jason tried not to read too closely.

He put the papers back exactly where he found them and kept looking around.

The old gaming consoles set up in his TV stand, the TV that was probably old seven years ago and could only be doubly so now. The collection of games and movies. The single controller and the cheat sheet for one of the games half-hidden under the game’s case. The Jump City poster next to the TV with worn, whitened corners and a few creases and tears throughout it. The picture on his nightstand of Dick, in his Robin costume, with what seemed to be a younger Raven, a green boy, a large cyborg, and a girl with the  _ brightest _ green eyes he’d ever seen. They pierced him even through the photo.

They all looked so happy―even Dick was smiling, tucked up into the cyborg’s side with eyes crinkled at the edges and wrinkling his domino mask. He had an arm thrown around the green boy, who was sticking his tongue out and holding onto the back of Raven’s cape. She seemed amused, if in an exasperated sort of way. And the green-eyed girl was floating on the cyborg’s other side, grinning wide and sort of squinting because of it… Which, of course, did nothing to distract from how  _ green _ her eyes were.

He wondered who the other three in the picture were, and wondered if he’d ever meet them.

The must have been close to Dick if he looked that soft and comfortable with them… And if Dick still had the picture on his bedside table.

And eventually there was nothing else he could look at and he was faced with the knowledge that Dick  _ really wasn’t here. _ From the looks of things, he hadn’t been for a few days. And that was scary.

He left, closing the door, and went straight to Bruce.

“B,” He said, and his tone had the man turning to him immediately, “Dick’s gone. He’s not in his room and it really looks like he hasn’t been for a  _ while.” _

Bruce went pale.

Even Tim, who he’d been speaking to, looked a little whiter than before.

“You checked?” Bruce asked, before anything else, “You’ve checked the whole room?”

“Top to bottom,” Jason promised.

Bruce’s brows furrowed, concern so very obvious on his face and Jason thought, for a horrible second, that Dick had probably never seen him look  _ concerned _ about him.

… Jason knew how Bruce had been, in the early days of his own tenure as Robin. That coldness and lack of emotional closeness with anyone or anything. And the constant comments from other people about that just being how Bruce  _ was _ …

It was hitting him now that Dick might be struggling so much in part because he’d never been taught it was okay to ask for help from Bruce except out in the field. Because Bruce had never been available to  _ offer _ the help he needed.

God,  _ oof. _

“Maybe you should ask Alfred if he’s seen him?” Tim piped up, after they both stood there for a moment. When they both looked at him, he seemed to shrink a little, “I mean, he’s here  _ all the time. _ If anyone saw, it’d be him, right?”

“Good point, T,” Jason said, and he ruffled his hair as he passed, “I’m gonna go check with Alfred, then.”

He heard a silence behind him for a moment before a rather exasperated Tim said, “You go too, you big idiot. You’re not going to stop worrying until you get a direct answer and you know it.”

Bruce caught up with him within a few seconds, and Jason decided not to question it or really even look at Bruce. Just keep walking and they could find Alfred together and bombard him with questions.

And, as expected, it wasn’t hard to find Alfred. Right now he was preparing something in the kitchen (probably getting an early start on lunch), and Jason  _ hated _ to interrupt, but…

“Alfred,” Bruce said, before Jason could figure out how to ask, “Have you seen Dick?”

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred hardly even turned, “No, I have not seen Master Dick. I was unaware he was supposed to be home by now.”

_ “Supposed _ to be home by now?” Jason asked, because that implied there was a timeframe he was expected to be gone.

Alfred did pause, at that, and peeked over his shoulder at them.

“Did…” Alfred hesitated, turning toward them, “Master Bruce, did Dick not speak to you when he left?”

“I―” Bruce looked rather confounded, “No, Alfred, I haven’t seen him in almost a week.”

“I haven’t either,” Jason added, for both of their sakes, “When he didn’t pop up the day after that I figured he just wasn’t feeling well, but...”

Alfred looked troubled, suddenly, “I… Well, Master Bruce, he didn’t leave until very late. I thought he must have spoken to you before he left, seeing as he waited until you all returned from patrol.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed in a way that Jason recognized mostly from having that look aimed at him. He was considering, heavily, that Dick may have planned this. And he was  _ very _ concerned about what Dick was about to do next.

… Jason was too.

Alfred frowned. “I had assumed there was nothing amiss when no one commented on his absence. I suppose I should have asked.”

“It’s not your fault, Alfred.” Bruce said, immediately, “He must have gone out of his way to make sure you wouldn’t ask too many questions. He knows you.”

“I suppose,” Alfred agreed, still frowning.

“... All we can do is wait around.” Bruce sighed, “I’ll message Raven to have her on the lookout for him, but…”

Alfred, uneasy, returned to his preparations, and Bruce and Jason exited the kitchen.

“You seem… More worried than I expected.” Jason pointed out, “Not― Not that he’s gone, I mean. Like. About what he’s doing… Or might do.”

Bruce frowned, but said, “Dick is incredibly intelligent. And I’m not sure… Well. With his recent attitude, I’m not sure if I can trust him out on his own when it’s seeming like he went out of his way to make sure I didn’t know he left.” After a troubled silence while Jason processed that, Bruce said, “There’s a reason that Diana liked to call him my contingency plan. He’s terrifyingly smart, and ruthlessly efficient when he needs to be. I do  _ not _ cherish the idea that he may have turned against us, because I’m not certain we’d be able to take him down.”

Jason thought about that, and swallowed.

Yeah.

No, that was a good point.

But all they could do for now was wait.


	12. reflection

It should have only taken the first couple of hours to make it to Jump City.

It wasn’t a long drive by any stretch, with a highway connecting it to Gotham and the speed limit making the trek short. Even if he just drove slowly anyone who knew where he was headed would expect that he’d make it there by noon.

It should be obvious that that did not end up being the case.

When he left Gotham, he hit the back roads at a ‘leisurely’ pace. He was still winding his way down a long, nearly rural road when the sun peaked up over he horizon. He stopped to watch it, hoping for some measure of comfort, but… Well. He found none. And once the sun was back in the sky, he continued on.

He wound through the back roads for the majority of the first day. Went to places he recognized there in the nearly-rural areas outside of Gotham. There was a lake, in particular, that he had always liked. There was a tree just far enough off the bank that he could sit at the base and not get his feet wet unless it flooded.

He sat there to watch the sun go down and wished that he felt tired.

But he didn’t.

And once the sun had finished sinking below the horizon he sighed, got back on his bike, and continued on.

The goal was to go to Jump, and that likely wasn’t going to change. It was just that, while he was out, he wanted to go to places that were his. Only his. He’d never told anyone about these places, because he didn’t talk to Bruce about anything involving an emotional attachment and he could trust the Titans all he wanted but those hidden peaceful places were something sacred to him.

Telling anyone else would make it different.

And he wasn’t sure who he should be thanking, really, that the places that he had loved so much and held so closely to his heart had barely changed in the time he’d been gone.

He made it to Jump before the sun came up, and sat on the side of the bridge until it did. Cars passed and he was sure one or two of them were concerned for the teen with his motorcycle sitting on the edge of a bridge in the crisp, early hours of the morning, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t as if it would matter in the long run. And when the sun came up, he  _ wished _ that he would just feel tired.

But he didn’t.

Not in a physical sense. Not in any way that would matter in the end, because he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep.

It wasn’t as if there was anywhere for him to sleep, anyway, but the feeling stood.

He had an exhaustion in him that ran bone-deep and it wasn’t physical and he wished that it was, because maybe if he’d just take a nap and eat something he’d feel better. That had always worked in the past… And yet he knew it wouldn’t work for this. That wasn’t what was wrong.

Still, the grumbling of his stomach  _ did _ eventually move him off the bridge with the sun rising into the sky, and he headed to a cafe he’d liked when he was still Robin. When things were still sort of okay.

Walking in out of costume felt wrong.

But at least this was one of those places that just didn’t seem to change. The two years he’d worked in Jump it had barely so much as moved a table, and even now the biggest change were the new awards for food safety and customer service, and the small tribute to Robin off near the spot where he used to sit.

It felt a little better than the last few places he had stopped, and he wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe it was because he still sort of felt like he belonged here, even with the tribute to him.

He ordered the same thing he used to order, took a seat near that spot where he used to sit but not  _ in _ that spot, and he sat and he may have stewed a little bit. Mostly, though, he just thought and chewed at his breakfast.

Something still felt wrong, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

He was a dead man walking. He didn’t belong here any more than he belonged at the manor. But that was fine, he supposed. He could work on that.

He ate and he finished his coffee and he made sure to leave an extra tip before he left. He’d tipped when he’d paid, but… Well.

Wallet a little lighter once again, he spent the rest of the day wandering the city. Slowly. Wound through the streets and looked around. Ran into one or two people who asked about his ancient hoodie and his sad face.

“Used to live here,” Is what he said to each of them, “Place… Hasn’t changed much.”

They seemed a little thrown off, both times, still glancing at his outdated hoodie and probably too-youthful, sad face. But they left him alone.

He scratched his neck and moved through the streets.

Sundown came and went and he was getting  _ really _ frustrated with the lack of tiredness he felt. But there was nothing to be done, because he had nowhere to go. Not yet. He hadn’t figured that part out yet.

The city looked beautiful when he was roaming its streets at night. He’d never had a chance to notice that before. He was always too busy, always on the run. Having the time to just… Walk and look around? That was nice.

Once or twice, he did find himself entirely too close to a fight. Got to stand by and watch while the people he assumed were probably the new Titans take down a baddie. It was… Satisfying, he guessed.

It was satisfying to see that his city wasn’t in danger. There were people here who could handle it just fine.

Still, something rankled at knowing there were new Titans. That all of his friends were adults now, aged out of the team one by one and he was just…  _ Here.  _ Sixteen and bitter.

The next couple of days went more or less the same way. He ate when he was hungry and wandered the city. Having his bike and being constantly on the move kept him from seeming homeless, if nothing else, so he tried to keep moving.

But finally, he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Night fell, the new Titans left their tower, and he made his way there.

Scaled the side of the building and pulled himself onto the roof. It was the same as always, up there. Something felt right and painful at the same time about being here.

He’d always liked it up here―although maybe ‘liked’ was too strong a word.

It was peaceful, especially on nights when there was nothing for him to be doing. A nice place to go when he wanted to think and be away from the loudness of the rest of the team. He always felt… Better, he guessed, after being up here. It gave him time and silence in which to think.

He climbed up onto the roof of the stairwell and sat himself down. Stared out over the ocean and thought.

And thought.

It had been seven years since the last time he was here, almost eight.

The last time had been right before he and the Titans piled into the car to leave for their much-needed year off. He’d spent  _ hours  _ that night doing exactly this… But he’d certainly felt better while he was doing it. He’d been anxious, yeah, but hopeful. Looking forward to some time away, some time where he wasn’t going to have to be in control.

Going back to Gotham wasn’t something he’d wanted all that much―his relationship with Bruce was strained at best and he didn’t see it getting any better. Not to mention that he’d be in very close quarters with Bruce and trying to work with him in a professional setting again and he wasn’t sure how well he was going to be able to do that. And  _ that _ was setting aside that Bruce had sort of asked/demanded that if he was going to be doing solo work, he ought to come up with a different identity for it since everyone was always going to see Robin and Batman as a duo.

Not that he’d been having all that much trouble coming up with a new identity, or that he hadn’t actually already been thinking about it.

He’d gone to bed after staring out at the ocean, that night, thinking of new beginnings.

This time, he sat there and thought about that. And thought about what came after. About the months of slow adjustment and changing over to Nightwing instead of Robin.

About how he’d felt more and more like his own person, more and more  _ comfortable, _ as he made the switch.

Robin and Batman were, after all, exactly what people thought. They were a duo. And as much as it had ached to not be Robin anymore, it had been freeing as well. He wasn’t Robin anymore, and he wasn’t part of a duo. He was his own person. He was coming out from the shadow of Bruce and doing his own thing. They still worked together, sure, but it was on a more equal footing.

… And then, with Bruce’s  _ blessing _ because he deemed him responsible enough and strong enough, he’d gone after that kingpin-type bastard. He’d gone after him  _ alone _ and with all the training Bruce and Slade had given to him on his side.

He’d cut through the guy’s minions like they were made of butter without ever killing a single one. Got the guy cornered.

He remembered, sitting there on the roof, the fear of that little bomb. The fear, the beeping. And then, though he hadn’t before, he remembered the sound of it exploding and he remembered  _ pain. _

He swallowed and he guessed it was just the fact that he already felt so terrible without having a reaction to it that kept him from descending into another crying fit of a panic attack. He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t  _ want _ to remember it, but… Well. Maybe at least knowing what had happened to him and acknowledging it all a little more fully would help him.

Still, it took him a moment to swallow down the nausea and the immense need to curl into a ball and try not to think.

… Sitting here wasn’t really helping anything, if he was honest.

Sure, the distance from Bruce and his brothers and the familiarity of doing exactly this was helpful to some extent. Remembering exactly what happened helped too.

But he wasn’t going to change anything by just sitting here. He wasn’t going to figure anything out or fully grasp what he was feeling unless he  _ did _ something about it.

It hit him, then, almost like a bus.

He didn’t belong here any more than he belonged at the manor, at that cafe, or anywhere else. He was a  _ dead man walking  _ and more than that he was seven years out of his time and  _ completely _ out of his depth. He didn’t just  _ have _ a place in this world. He never did.

He’d  _ never _ just  _ belonged _ anywhere.

He’d carved out a place for himself in the circus by being exactly what was expected of him. He’d carved out a place with Bruce. He’d carved out a place with the Titans.

He hadn’t belonged there until he  _ made himself _ belong there.

There wasn’t anywhere that just felt  _ right _ to him now because none of it  _ was _ right.

The Manor had life in it and he’d been gone for seven years while that life started to prosper there. The Tower had  _ life _ in it and he didn’t know a single one of them, but he trusted them to do their jobs without his help. He didn’t belong to those places because they weren’t his anymore either.

He would have to carve out a new spot.

And, maybe, while he was at it…

Get some therapy.

He chewed his lip, made his decision, and hopped down off the stairwell roof.

Climbed back down the building and thanked past him for keeping the necessary equipment in a compartment on his bike and for deciding to get back into shape whether he could actually do vigilante work or not.

He made his way back to his bike, climbed on, and started heading back toward the Manor.

He didn’t feel better―not by a long shot.

And he  _ probably _ wasn’t going to for a long time.

But at least now he had some semblance of an idea of where to go and what to do with himself in this weird second chance he was getting.

He still needed to work on his anger. Still needed to at least drop it to a level he was more comfortable with, and work past that urge to just  _ maim _ whatever he was up against. But once he got that under control he could go back to doing what he did best, and he could carve his place out in the world for sure.

… In the meantime, he guessed he’d better start carving by working on his relationship with Bruce.

There was a lot that they needed to talk about.

But for now, he took to the back roads again and headed to his lake.

He didn’t want to go back to the Manor until morning, and at least at the lake he might have a chance of falling asleep under the tree. He’d feel safer there than anywhere in Jump, that was for sure.

So he went to his lake, and he sat down under the tree and leaned against it. Stared out over this water, too, and tried not to think.

Watched the stars and the moon shift across the sky through the water’s reflection.

Lifted his eyes to watch the sun creep up over the horizon.

Breathed out a sigh and cursed to himself for not sleeping yet again. He was going to crash eventually. He had to―he was only human. He wasn’t meant to stay awake for days and days on end. His eyes were starting to ache, as was his head.

Maybe he’d be able to sleep once he got back to the Manor.

It was high time he got back there, after all.

So, with another sigh he heaved himself up and back onto his bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was initially going to be way longer but i decided to sort of chop it and use what was originally the other half as the next chapter, for next week
> 
> see you guys next monday!


	13. adrenaline

Barely an hour had passed since discovering that Dick had left nearing a week ago without a word to anyone but Alfred when Jason and Bruce both heard the garage door rumble open and the soft growl of a bike’s engine approaching, then cutting off. The garage door slid closed, and they hadn’t even made it to the door leading into the garage before Dick was emerging into the Manor from it.

He looked…

_ Bad. _

His hair was windswept, face pale and dark circles dominating his lower lids like he hadn’t slept since he left. He was half-hunched, like he was trying to protect himself from some unseen threat, shoulders drawn up around his neck and hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. There were dirt and grass stains on his jeans and the whites of his shoes were somewhere just beyond scuffed and stained.

Some of this, Jason knew, was already like that before he left. His shoes always looked bad since they were nearly a decade old, but not to that extent.

“Where have you been?” Bruce asked, almost immediately, and Jason flinched at the half-exasperated tone.

Not the best tone to be using.

… But Dick didn’t really seem bothered.

He glanced at Bruce, face impassive, and simply continued walking, only offering the words, “I had something I needed to do.”

Bruce seemed as if he might say something, but stoped short. Just closed his mouth like he’d thought better of it.

Jason didn’t want to know hat he’d almost said. He got the feeling it would just make him mad―and he was already sort of barely repressing anger. He wasn’t sure why. He just… Dick disappeared for a week without a word and all he had to say about it was that he had something he needed to do?

Jason pushed down the anger, but followed his big brother up the stairs. Threw a glance to Bruce, who only watched them and looked oddly grim.

“Listen,” Jason said, as they ascended the stairs―Dick was only two steps ahead of him, “I get needing to do things, but it’s been a week!”

He didn’t want to guilt him, he really didn’t. And he didn’t want to overstep, but… Well. Some things just weren’t okay, he guessed. And even if Dick didn’t have a great relationship with any of them, just running off on his own was a good way to get himself killed again! Jason was…

He was worried about him.

And the fact that Dick only sighed in response just made it worse.

“I just― What did you need to do that took a  _ week?” _ He asked.

They crested the top of the stairs and Dick didn’t even sigh at that.

“And just running off, I― I know I’m not your like,  _ dad _ or anything, but we were worried about you and you didn’t even say anything to any of us!”

Dick sighed at that, so at least he was listening. And he stepped into his room. Jason paused, not sure if he should continue following, but Dick didn’t immediately shut the door in his face, so he did so anyway. And Dick softly closed the door behind him, turning  _ very _ slowly to Jason. For half a second he didn’t do anything, and then he very deliberately reached out and grabbed Jason by the collar of his shirt with both hands.

Jason had about another half-second to fear what he might do before Dick was  _ hauling him off his feet _ and slamming him into the door hard enough that it rattled on its hinges and creaked dangerously. The breath whooshed out of him, as did any anger he’d felt. And he’d hardly processed now being against the door before Dick’s right hand was letting go of his collar and for a second he thought he was going to hit him.

And, well, he’d have let him if that was the case, because anger was a reasonable response to being interrogated by someone who doesn’t have any right to be interrogating you.

But he didn’t.

He just pressed his forearm against his throat, as if in warning, and  _ glared _ .

His voice was unsettlingly calm when he spoke.

“Y’know, little wing,” He said, “It’s  _ really  _ not any of your business, but if you really  _ have _ to know? Well, I’m sure you can understand that  _ I don’t fucking belong here.” _

“I―” Jason swallowed. He was shaking and he guessed if nothing else this proved that he’d been right to think that Dick would have few problems protecting him if that was ever a necessity… And he was starting to really see exactly what Bruce had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he could take Dick down if it came to that. Finally, knot in his throat going down a bit, he quietly said, “I know that feeling, yeah.”

Dick glared for only a moment or two longer, silent, before he sagged and his eyes flicked away while his expression turned very tired once more. He pulled away, leaving Jason leaned against the door, and walked to his bed.

He sat down, and Jason tried to breathe.

He put his head in his hands and didn’t look up.

Jason tried to breathe, and slowly let himself sink down to the floor.

Dick didn’t react at all to him not leaving, so Jason just sat there for the time being. Swallowed and shook himself a bit when he realized he was still shaking. Dick clearly hadn’t wanted to hurt him or he would have done it. It’s not like it would have been hard. Jason had had his guard down and he’d frozen like a deer in the headlights at having been pinned.

If Dick had intended to hurt him, he’d be hurting right now.

He touched the spot where Dick had had his arm. It wasn’t even tender to the touch. Hadn’t even hurt, because Dick had only put enough pressure on his neck with his arm to strongly discourage him from moving. It had been careful and calculated and that was just another puzzle piece slotting in. He could see how that care and level of planning could lead to a person being referred to as ‘ruthlessly efficient’.

Particularly when Bruce was the one calling him that.

He took a deep breath, letting his hand fall into his lap, and looked at Dick.

_ Really _ looked at him.

It was hard to believe that this poor guy was older than him, sometimes, but right now… Right now he really seemed a lot older. He was curled in on himself there on the edge of his bed, totally still save for his breathing, and everything about him just seemed tired. Jason wouldn’t have been surprised if he fell asleep like that. If he just passed out hunched over himself with his face in his hands.

But every once in a while he would twitch in a way that Jason recognized as his body wanting to shift positions. But he remained in that one with very few minor adjustments over several long, silent minutes. Jason heard only the ticking of the clock for the time being.

Finally, wetting his lips with his tongue, he decided to speak up. “You know you can talk to me about… Any of that if you need to, right? I’m here for you.”

Dick puffed out what was probably a laugh in response. “... ‘preciate it, little wing, but I’m fine. Don’t waste your energy worrying about me.”

Not the response that Jason had wanted, but one he’d sort of expected.

Still, it made his stomach turn a bit with anxiety.

Raven hadn’t been by in a couple of weeks, now―maybe closer to a month. Jason was more than willing to bet that that meant Dick was bottling everything up, because he clearly talked to her about his feelings and hadn’t had a chance to recently. Had he gone to see her? Gone to stay with her? Had he asked her not to come see him anymore because he wanted to deal with this on his own?

Did he honestly think that he was okay?

All of the questions just produced more, though, and he wasn’t getting any answers like this.

Dick couldn’t do this on his own.

Jason had barely managed with all the help he could get, and Talia had told him that even she had needed some assistance readjusting the first time she’d had to use the Pit to revive herself―from a near death rather than a full one, but still. And he could only imagine what it must be like even without the Pit’s influence, and with a whole  _ seven years of life _ that had continued without him. It had to be hurting him something fierce.

Jason  _ wanted to help. _

Like, sure, he wasn’t the epitome of a good person. He was generally kind of shit, if he was honest. Any seventeen year old who could and would cheerfully shoot someone in the head was probably not a  _ good _ seventeen year old, and he knew that. It usually didn’t bother him―he killed people who were dangerous to other people. People generally considered to be the scum of the Earth, you know? Or people who were directly threatening his life. Depended on the situation.

But the point was that even if he wasn’t a good person he was  _ trying _ to be helpful and do the right thing in the end most of the time.

… This wasn’t one of those times where he was okay with doing the wrong thing in order to be right. He wanted to help and he wanted to do it the right way.

But, thing was, having gone through something similar? He was pretty sure the ‘right way’ was therapy and although Dick would  _ probably _ benefit from it, it wasn’t something Jason could provide and it wasn’t something that was easy to get in Gotham without fear of ending up with a villain out there who knew all your secrets now. And, on top of that, it wasn’t something Bruce was probably going to be easy to convince of allowing to happen for that  _ exact _ reason.

So if the right way, which was therapy, was out the window, what did he have left?

Letting Dick talk to him clearly wasn’t going to work at  _ this _ juncture, because Dick didn’t want to talk to him about this. Providing mostly silent solidarity wasn’t really going to work either, because he’d been doing that and while it did seem to help somewhat, it wasn’t direct action.

The moderately right ways he was aware of were out the window as well.

What did he have left?

…

The  _ wrong  _ way.

Wetting his lips, lifting his head to look at Dick again despite not being sure when he’d stopped in the first place, he hesitated. Then took a breath. Opened his mouth and said, “Do you want to do something stupid?”

To his delight, it got Dick to slowly lift his head, then one of his brows once he was looking at him.

Jason offered a sheepish grin.

* * *

Jason was surprised that Dick had said yes, but somehow  _ not _ surprised how on-board with the whole plan that he was. It didn’t really seem up Dick’s alley, but hey―death changes you. Even if this hadn’t been his thing before, it seemed it was right now when he felt like utter shit, so!

Time to do something stupid.

They’d spent all day planning and Jason felt distinctly like a villain while doing it because it was also  _ illegal, _ but that was okay. He’d done this before and he wasn’t going to stop now. Especially not if it helped Dick, and he was pretty sure that it would.

An adrenaline rush would be good for him.

And now they were sneaking out an hour or so prior to when Bruce and the others would be leaving on patrol, and Jason had ‘volunteered’ to stay home with Dick when asked if he’d be going out tonight. Bruce had allowed it without question and had honestly seemed relieved. Jason wasn’t going to question that response if he was  _ paid _ to.

They snuck out through one of the back gardens and looped around the property to leg it into the city, and it was about the hour that reasonable people started going home in a city like Gotham. Jason could already feel the adrenaline building, and glancing at Dick showed that although he still looked  _ completely exhausted, _ there was a spark in his eyes and just the  _ slightest _ upturn of his lips.

Good enough for Jason.

They both nearly skidded when they came to a stop in an alley, and no one would look twice at two of Bruce Wayne’s boys out in the city at night. His kids were weird, don’t you know? So Jason wasn’t worried about having been seen booking it through the streets.

Jason offered Dick a leg up to where they were going, which Dick smiled and accepted without asking how Jason intended to get up there. Better trust than the first time he’d gone on patrol with Tim or Damian, that was for sure. Jason found himself grinning as Dick hauled himself up higher than where Jason had gotten him and gracefully popped the window open and slipped inside.

Jason backed up, took a running start, and managed to scale just high enough with the sparse two steps he could go straight up a wall to grab the windowsill and haul himself up as well.

He slipped in with less grace, but it didn’t matter.

This place closed early today, so it’d been empty for hours and Dick would already be working on the security…

Ah, there was the soft breaker-pop that told him the cameras were off.

Dick worked fast.

He slid his backpack off, catching Dick’s eyes as he re-emerged into the main room, and they both grinned. It was dark and he couldn’t see  _ terribly _ well but that spark in Dick’s eyes was fully alight and almost glowing and Jason was  _ living _ for it. If nothing else, this was something to get Dick out of his obvious funk. Worst case scenario this became a regular thing for him and Jason had to smack some sense into him later on.

Whatever.

They both set to work cheerfully clearing out the shelves before them. Jason didn’t pay much attention to what Dick grabbed, a little more focused on what  _ he _ was clearing, so it was anyone’s guess what ended up in the backpack that Dick had brought with him. Then again, anyone who knew Jason would probably be surprised how many stuffed animals ended up in his along with all the candy and chips.

Now, Jason was sure it was some kind of morally reprehensible to be robbing an arcade, but also? This place  _ blew. _ It made more money in a month than most of the restaurants in this part of town and it overcharged for everything  _ and _ he happened to know the owner was a distinctly pretty shitty dude. That was why he’d picked this arcade in particular. A bunch of cheap, overpriced candy and toys that were easy pickings because no villain in their right mind robbed an  _ arcade _ and especially not of all their snacks.

But Jason was seventeen, and he had a sweet tooth and an adrenaline addiction.

And  _ Dick, _ well. He was sixteen and bitter.

Sounded like “has a sweet tooth and an adrenaline addiction too” to Jason.

After all, he’d had  _ very _ few questions about why they were doing this―all his questions were really more aimed at “what’s the security like” and “what did the owner do to you”. Which were answered as, “shitty” and “nothing to me personally but he sucks, trust me”.

And Dick had taken him at his word and hadn’t questioned the reasons why again.

And now, with his backpack full with all the candy and chips and stuffed animals he could tetris into it, he paused to watch Dick, who was apparently finishing up as well. He definitely had more in his backpack than Jason had managed to grab―had everything tightly packed but nothing Jason could see was bent or misshapen so he just must have been a tetris master on a different level than Jason.

Zipping his bag, Dick glanced at him, then his bag. Laughed softly, leaned over, and  _ somehow _ rearranged everything in his bag without pulling more than a handful of it out. He winked when Jason gave him an uncomprehending stare.

Jason decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and when Dick expectantly held out a hand, Jason grabbed some more off the shelf obediently.

Once his bag was full and more tightly arranged, Dick moved back to his own bag and patted it down as if making sure he hadn’t dropped anything or left any evidence around or beneath it. Seeming sure, he told Jason he was going to mess with the tapes and he’d be right back.

Jason could only laugh and work on making sure he hadn’t left any evidence on the counter anywhere.

Thank God he’d been working with Bruce long enough that he knew how to leave as little trace evidence at a scene as he could. He’d done this a couple of times and it was a life saver each time.

After spending a couple of moments with Dick after he returned scouring the place with Jason’s phone flashlight, they decided they’d picked up all the evidence they’d left and they left back through the window they’d come int through.

They managed to get a block away before Dick started grinning, full-on and almost vibrating.

“I get the  _ strangest _ feeling you’re gonna sleep like a baby tonight, Big Bird.” Jason teased, gently, hoping that he wasn’t stepping over any weird boundaries when he nudged him with his elbow.

“If I don’t, I’m gonna fight God.” Dick replied lightly, nudging him back, “He’s kept me awake long enough, I’d  _ better _ crash tonight.”

Jason chuckled, because he knew that feeling and he had his suspicions about how long Dick had actually been awake. Dick chuckled as well, and Jason liked the way that sounded. He hadn’t gotten to hear Dick laugh much yet, and it was a sound he wanted to protect, if he was honest. The guy looked so much younger, actually  _ looked sixteen, _ when he was smiling and laughing. Damn near looked innocent.

Jason would wonder what happened to the guy to make him constantly look older and exhausted, but he knew.

Being a vigilante aged you something fierce, and any other trauma on top of it was just asking to look and feel twenty-something when you weren’t even eighteen yet.

He hoped he’d get to see Dick looking relaxed like this more often, in the future.

He liked seeing him calm and happy. But he guessed anyone would want to see their siblings happy, and he could definitely say he hoped for similar things with Damian and Timmy. It was just  _ way _ harder with Dick and Damian than it was with Tim.

Ah, but maybe that would change.

They made it back to the Manor in companionable silence, mostly, and didn’t go back inside immediately. They wandered the garden a while.

And finally, on their final loop back toward the Manor, when they were sure Alfred was in the Cave and not watching the back door, Dick softly sighed.

Jason looked to him immediately, worried the high had faded enough that he felt like shit again, but he didn’t seem… Entirely deflated. Just like he was thinking and it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Before Jason could ask, Dick softly said, “I need to talk to Bruce tomorrow.”

He admitted it like it was painful to say, and Jason got that.

“We have… A  _ lot _ to work out.” Dick admitted, half-laughing, “And if I don’t get it out of the way I’m just going to stew until something bad happens.” There was another silence, which Jason allowed because it was clear Dick wasn’t done talking. And when he finally spoke again, there was no lightness in his voice. “... I already left everything with him unfinished once. I don’t want to end up leaving it unfinished again.”

And Jason was smart enough to understand what he meant―if he didn’t talk to Bruce about it now, he’d leave it to fester until either he or Bruce  _ died _ and that would be that. And he didn’t want that to be what happened.

So he patted his shoulder and said, “Yelling at him is cathartic,” He offered, “And he’ll kind of just let you, these days, if he thinks you really need to get it out.”

It got Dick’s lips to twitch upwards slightly. “I might have to do that, then.”

Jason offered him a smile.

Dick’s half-smile broke and he looked away, smiling for  _ real. _

His eyes were really blue under normal circumstances, but they almost freaking  _ sparkled _ when he was smiling.

Jason was going to do anything he could to see that more often.

Dick might be his older brother, legally, but this guy seemed like he needed someone who he could just be himself around. If that relegated Jason to the older brother slot? Well, that was fine.

They entered the Manor at last, and headed up the stairs in companionable silence.

They paused outside Dick’s room, and Dick’s smile turned into something more considering and tired again. Jason cocked his head.

Dick shook his in reply, smiling a little again, and popped his door open to toss his bag inside. He didn’t go after it, not yet, and Jason wondered why. By all means it’d make sense if he just went to bed now, right?

But Dick turned back to him, instead, gave him a good looking at, and then pulled him into a tight hug. Jason hugged back as soon as his brain caught up with what was happening, and honestly? It felt really nice. Damian wasn’t the hugging type, and Tim was usually a little concerned that Jason was going to pick him up and suplex him into the nearest soft surface, so Jason didn’t get much in the way of hugs unless they were from Bruce, which was rare enough as it was.

And Dick probably hadn’t had a hug since the last one Bruce gave him, either.

So Jason squeezed back with all he had and tried to push as much of his love and understanding as he could into it. And Dick took a breath. And they stood there, hugging, for a long moment. Until Dick finally started to pull away, and Jason let him.

He looked like he was crying a bit.

“Thanks,” Dick said, blinking away tears and smiling just a little bit. “... For everything, little wing.”

“No problem.” Jason said, then gently nudged him, “Now go to bed, big bird. You need it.”

Dick laughed, eyes squinting through the action, and gently nudged him back before turning toward his door and slipping into his room. He paused, before closing it, and said, “Night, Jay.”

“Night.”

And the last thing Jason saw of Dick before he closed his door was him smiling.

Good.

That was good.

Jason headed to his room smiling as well.

Hopefully tomorrow went as well as today had. Hopefully Dick got a chance to talk to Bruce and that helped somehow.

For now, he had a stash to be getting into.


	14. discussion

Settling in― _ really _ settling in―was… Surprisingly easy, after that.

Dick wouldn’t lie, of course―it was still rough, and for good reason, but… It wasn’t as hard. It was really kind of easy in comparison to how sucky it had been before he’d gotten a chance to clear his head and be alone for a while, and before he’d gotten to get his blood pumping in a good way. But still rough, because he had a  _ lot _ of work to do before he’d settle in for real.

But the easiest way to go about it was to just  _ do _ it, so he did.

To the best of his ability, at least.

He breathed in deep, grabbed the metaphorical carving tools, and got to work.

His temper was still an issue through the next couple of weeks―it took more work to manage it than it did to do anything else, really. Even if trying to relate to and get close with his brothers felt like pulling teeth and/or chewing glass, managing his anger in the process just made it almost not feel worth it. And normal people would probably tell him to give it a rest, but, well.

He’d never been good at knowing when to quit.

And besides.

He’d never get anywhere with his brothers  _ or _ his temper if he didn’t  _ work on it. _ If he decided to leave it alone now, it was over. He knew how he was. If he gave up, he gave up for real. Next time he even made an attempt would be years from now, if he made one at all, and that was assuming he didn’t get himself thrown in jail for an outburst if he stopped trying to control his temper.

Still, point was that he swallowed it down to the best of his ability, tried to work it out in the in-house gym when he got a chance even if it still didn’t seem to be doing anything for him, and spent as much time with his brothers as he could stand to.

And they seemed to be responding to the effort!

Tim moreso than Damian, but Damian was certainly starting to come around.

Once Dick started putting himself out there and actually talking to them and  _ initiating conversation, _ they responded positively, and he was sure that Jason took them aside at some point and told them definitvely that Dick not talking to them until now didn’t have anything to do with them… Which would probably bug him if he didn’t need all the help he could get with this.

… Which brought him back to the  _ other _ thign he was supposed to be working on.

He told Jason he needed to talk to Bruce the day after their little arcade heist, but he… Well, he hadn’t done it yet a week later. And did he kind of feel like a coward for that? Yeah. But there wasn’t much that could be done about that. He didn’t want to chance that him being anxious walking into that talk would result in his temper flaring.

Not that he was really going to end up with much of a choice.

He was a week into his new effort, doing okay by all estimates, and at least had his little brothers willing to talk to him again. It was only a matter of time before he  _ had _ to talk to Bruce.

So after Damian and Tim went off to do their schoolwork after breakfast and Jason had excused himself to go do…  _ Something… _ Dick took a breath and sort of just followed Bruce up to his home office.

Bruce lifted a brow, once they were both in there, but didn’t otherwise respond.

“I, uh…” Dick swallowed, breathed deep, and forced himself to just say it. “Bruce, we need to talk.”

That Bruce’s expression actually turned concerned was something Dick didn’t entirely expect, but wasn’t at all upset about. “Okay,” Bruce said, “Then I guess we’d better start talking.”

Dick nodded, but it took him a second to find the words anyway. He’d been stewing over it for the past week, trying to figure out what to say,  _ how _ to say it… How to not put all the blame on Bruce since it wasn’t, after all, all his fault that Dick had ended up the way he was, but how to still hold Bruce accountable for what damage he  _ had _ done.

“... Let, uh. Let me preface this by saying you’re doing… Really well with the other three.” Dick said, and saw Bruce’s brow crinkle a little, “But it’s really… It’s putting into perspective that we  _ really _ didn’t have a, uh… A healthy relationship? Before?” He licked his lips, swallowing hard, “Like. You treat them really well, and that’s great and I’m glad, but I honestly can’t think of a single occasion where you were emotionally available when it was just me. I could probably count the number of hugs you gave me on one hand.

“And I don’t even want to delve into the extent of, like… How shitty that always felt? Because you’ve learned and you do a lot better now and that’s awesome. And I. Like. I don’t want to make you backslide just because I brought up the fact that you kinda… Honestly… Treated me like shit?”

He paused, then, unsure what else to say, because he  _ had more, _ but it just… Wasn’t coming out.

And he’d said that they needed to talk, not that  _ he _ needed to talk, anyway.

Bruce blinked at him for the first moment after he closed his mouth, but then slowly,  _ slowly, _ nodded. Seemed to think for a moment.

“I know I was hardly more than an authority figure to you, and… Indeed wasn’t terribly emotional with you.” He said, carefully, “And I am sorry for that. It’s been a learning curve to be as emotional as I am with the other three, and a lot of it I learned from…  _ Mistakes _ I made with you and Jason.” With a pause and a breath, he continued, “I should have done better with you, because you were a child and you deserved an emotional connection. But I can’t change the past, and apologizing only does so much at this stage, so… All I can do is promise I’ll try to do better.”

It was… Oddly freeing to hear it. To have Bruce tell him he understood. He knew, he was  _ sorry, _ and he was going to try and do better. That Dick had deserved better than the treatment he got, and now that he’d had time to do some growing of his own, Bruce would try to give him what he deserved.

Dick teared up a little. Swallowed and laughed, a bit. “I― That’s a better response than I expected,” He admitted, “But thank you for… Thank you.”

Bruce gave a half-smile and, almost hesitantly, lifted his arms to offer a hug.

Dick considered it for only half a moment, then closed the distance and hugged him.

Did this fix everything? Absolutely not.

But it was a good start, and he felt… Better. A little less skin-buzzy, a little less hair-trigger.

“I take it that wasn’t all we needed to talk about, though,” Bruce said, quietly, after a few minutes.

It caught Dick off guard, a little, and he laughed. “You’re right,” He said, after he stopped being sort of off-kilter about it, “It― It wasn’t.”

And the rest of the conversation went… About as well as that had. Bruce listened and didn’t make excuses for himself, and offered genuine support and apologies for the things that were his fault, and never once told Dick he was wrong or being too dramatic over something. Even if Dick was blowing something out of proportion he walked him through why without telling him outright that he was blowing it out of proportion.

It was…

Well, Dick certainly felt better having talked it out with him.

Especially the old wound of trying to take him off duty for getting shot―that one was an interesting one, but thankfully Dick was mature enough now to let Bruce explain himself. Because the reasoning, now that he had a few degrees of separation, was reasonable. But he also got to tell Bruce why it had made him so mad, which was primarily an issue of “if I can’t patrol I have nothing else I’m good at”, and Bruce found that to be reasonable as well.

And by the time that Dick headed on out to do his thing when they were done, he felt… Considerably lighter.

Again, still sort of skin-buzzy and hair-triggered, but lighter.

He got the feeling he’d get past it, though. Especially now that it had been dealt with.

And he and Jason spent that night, because Jason decided to stay home after having been out all day, sparring in the gym and eating junk food in the living room afterwards. It was  _ really _ nice because Jason was sturdy and them sparring wasn’t too easy for either of them. And  _ that _ actually helped drain some of Dick’s anger off, which was likely Jason’s intention when he’d stayed home to spar with him.

Still, he had to hold himself back from anything  _ too _ serious because even if Jason was sturdier than a regular person because of the Pit in his veins, Dick didn’t doubt he could temporarily take him off-duty if he went too hard. And vice versa!

… Maybe, he thought, while they sat on the couch, he might be able to keep doing this. He might be able to go back to patrolling.

Maybe not now, maybe not even  _ soon, _ but one day.

That was pretty much good enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm putting Dick through a lot and he deserves to feel better lol
> 
> I know this can easily come across as an ending but I promise it's not!!  
> New chapter next Monday, dw


	15. Forced Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's been a while and I'm _so_ sorry >.>  
> It's just been a rough couple of weeks, you know? But anyways, should be back on schedule now!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and being patient with me!

Generally, given that he stayed up in the main house as much as he could and tried to avoid the BatCave, Dick didn’t hear a whole lot about the current crimefighting scene.

He especially didn’t hear much now that he’d been a little more honest about trying to stay away from it until he felt a little more stable. Bruce gently steered his brothers away from talking about it in front of him when possible, and usually they caught themselves lately.

But, well.

They couldn’t be expected to catch themselves when they didn’t know he was around.

“― it’s just getting really weird.” Jason sighed, shaking his head while Dick watched from up in the rafters. He’d been going after an old stash of gear so he could try to train a little when the other three had entered the cave, so now he was stuck up here, “I haven’t seen a  _ trace _ of Scarecrow in weeks, but there’s still reports of his toxin being used. Last I heard he was back in Arkham, so…”

“It  _ is _ odd,” Tim agreed, “I’ve never even  _ met _ Scarecrow, so I can’t speak to whether or not he’s in Arkham right now but the amount of reports of a similar MO being used is concerning.”

“It’s probably for the best you haven’t met him.” Jason frowned.

“If what I have heard from father is true, a dosage of his fear toxin may completely incapacitate us, so I must agree.” Damian shifted, “Still, if he is the one behind it, we will eventually have to encounter him. We can’t all patrol together at all times, and it is unlikely that only you or father will catch him.”

“Indeed,” Came Bruce’s voice, suddenly, “Although Jason and I will likely stand up to it better than either of you, it’s unreasonable to try and keep one of us with one of you two at all times. There’s too much city for that.”

The other three sort of grumbled their agreement.

“... Which is why, while I’m hesitant to ask…” Bruce sighed, turning his gaze directly up to Dick, “I don’t suppose you feel up to running with Damian tonight?”

Three other sets of eyes snapped to him, all immediately widening in surprise.

“I mean,” Dick hesitated, but thought about it for a moment, “It can’t hurt for me to go with him. Don’t have a new suit yet, though.”

Was he a little surprised that Bruce had known he was up here? Yeah. Was he still hesitant to go? Absolutely. But if his brothers were up against Scarecrow, well… He’d breathed in those toxins before, and even if they’d  _ probably _ been improved in the last seven years, he imagined it couldn’t really be any worse now than it had been back then, and he  _ highly _ doubted Bruce would send them out without gas masks in case they ended up needing them.

“As long as you’ve got some nondescript clothes it should be fine. I’ll lend you one of the cowls.”

Dick snapped him a two-fingered salute, dropping as carefully as he could down to the area where his brothers and Bruce were standing. His brothers were still staring, but Bruce was already moving on. Already talking to the others about where he was sending them tonight.

As soon as the briefing was finished, Dick quietly made his way back upstairs to change into something a little less recognizable than his Jump City hoodie and ripped jeans, ending up in a long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of black leggings. He was pretty sure his stash up in the rafters had some armor in it that he could toss on for the time being.

The others had just finished getting into costume when he reappeared to make his way back into the rafters.

“What are you doing up there?” Bruce called up to him, sounding amused.

“I stashed some of my old gear up here before I died,” Dick called back, “Gonna see if any of it’s still in useable condition.”

Finding the duffel bag, he shouldered it and swung his way back down, seeing Bruce’s brows lifted, cowl still in his hands and not yet on.

“That’s an odd amount of forethought.” He said.

“I wanted to make sure it didn’t get moved while I was in Jump,” He said, a little sheepishly, “And the only place I can easily get to that you or Alfred would have a little trouble with is the rafters. Not to mention I figured you wouldn’t really be looking up there too closely.”

Unzipping the bag while Bruce sort of snorted and shook his head, he dug out what armor he had―some arm and leg padding, a bulletproof vest… Things he hadn’t bothered with much in the past, but things that would be helpful, especially right now.

He attached what he could, and after making sure it all fit he took the second cowl that Bruce offered him, pulling it on.

He probably looked ridiculous, but that was… Fine, he guessed.

“Alfred pulled your bike down here earlier to outfit it with new armor in case you needed it in the future,” Bruce advised, “So it should be ready to go.”

Dick nodded, catching sight of his reflection in one of the computer monitors. He didn’t… He didn’t look as ridiculous as he expected. That was good, he guessed―he tried to push it out of his head, digging through the bag again until he found a pair of gloves.

When preparations were finally finished and Bruce had handed him a gasmask just in case, Dick tried not to feel too… Excited? He guessed? This was just… There was a lot of adrenaline tied up in going out to patrol again. He was going with Damian, he knew, mostly as a precaution for Damian’s sake and for Bruce’s peace of mind. He’d fought Scarecrow before, so he’d have a better time getting Damian out of that situation than Damian would on his own. He probably wouldn’t even do any fighting, but…

Well, it was still  _ something _ to be going out on patrol.

“Damian,” Bruce said, as the two of them were about to follow Jason and Tim out of the Cave, “I know you hate being ordered around, but please listen to Dick. He knows what he’s doing.”

Damian’s face wrinkled a little, lips pinching, but he nodded regardless. “Yes, Father.”

And they were off, headed to the place Bruce had directed them toward. It was an old collection of warehouses down on the docks, not often used these days but still frequented often enough that there were people being effected by the apparent use of fear toxins in the area. Not that anyone had actually  _ seen _ the toxins be used, as was fairly typical of Scarecrow when he was on the down-low, but they’d felt the effects and the Commissioner had been filtering the reports through to Bruce, assuming it probably  _ was _ Scarecrow.

“So, Ri…  _ Dick,” _ Damian began, sounding as close to hesitant as Dick had heard him since they’d met, pausing as he got off his bike, “What  _ do _ you know about this Scarecrow? Father has never allowed me to face him and he is not terribly forthcoming with information about opponents I’m not meant to be engaging with.”

Dick considered it, frowning a bit, “I’ll brief you on him while we’re moving,” He said, “But first…”

Damian nodded, understanding his meaning, and they moved to scale the nearest warehouse, checking the inside through the window. They’d do a sweep like that, then begin actually searching within the warehouses. While they looked, Dick stayed close to Damian, close enough he barely had to whisper for Damian to hear him. He told him what he could about Scarecrow’s tactics and how best to avoid an altercation with him. He noticed, of course, that it seemed to put Damian off a little bit that he really didn’t have any tips on how to  _ fight _ him.

It took him a couple of warehouses, too, to realize that he wasn’t experiencing frequent snaps of annoyance at Damian’s very presence. Even once he’d finished explaining what he knew and answering the sparse questions Damian asked, he didn’t feel annoyed.

Had this been what he needed this whole time?

… Somehow he doubted it.

Far more likely that he was just too focused for his temper to get in the way.

Still, he was glad he wasn’t angry at the kid―sure, he could be a little shit and he was annoying to be around, but Dick was older. He needed to be patient, at least. That he was able to do that right now was promising.

They’d searched the inside of a single warehouse already by the time something else happened―by the time their search was interrupted.

They’d just barely entered the second warehouse, sticking close together as they paced around the perimeter, when something above them moved. Dick’s first instinct was to move to protect Damian, and he was glad for that even if it got him about one-half of a dirty look from the kid when nothing ended up happening. He didn’t bother with a sheepish look in response, and Damian’s expression cleared up surprisingly quickly even without it.

They routinely stopped during their perimeter search, hearing noises but never seeing anything.

It wasn’t until they’d stepped out into the main floor of the warehouse, away from the walls, that anything else happened.

There was a loud, hissing whistle, like a kettle coming to a boil, a dark laugh that was distinctly  _ not _ Scarecrow’s, and a thump. Dick barely even had time to process any of it before he smelled something  _ foul. _ The toxins? There was too large a chance that it was.

“Damian,  _ mask, now!” _

And it spoke somewhat, he supposed, to Damian’s willingness to trust he knew what he was doing that he  _ put his mask on instantly. _ And it had scarcely snapped into place before Dick’s vision started to go blurry, then started to go dark.

… This wasn’t Scarecrow’s gas.

He felt himself drop to his knees, mask still in his hands, and heard Damian give a soft gasp.

And then his vision went completely dark, and everything went horribly  _ quiet. _

He guessed he should have expected for everything to go sideways as soon as he was out on the field again, especially when he was going before he was ready and only really as a favor to Bruce. As a favor to his brother, too, but mostly to Bruce. Things always seemed to go sideways when he did a favor for someone.

It was only silent for a moment, only long enough for him to reflect on this.

This definitely wasn’t Scarecrow’s toxins―he was aware of what was going on, fully, and wasn’t, you know… Vividly hallucinating anything except darkness and quiet. That wasn’t a  _ fear _ of his. He liked silence and darkness. Scarecrow’s gas did… Other things to him. Not great things.

Definitely not just him staring into the darkness and hearing nothing.

And then, slowly, he felt eyes on his back. Someone  _ staring _ at him.

_ “Well, well…”  _ A voice hissed, the same voice that had laughed when the toxins were released, _ “If it isn’t the Robin who flew the nest. The one who betrayed all his flock.” _

He winced at the words, steadfastly avoiding responding to them. He was hallucinating, even if this wasn’t Scarecrow’s fear toxin, and speaking out loud wouldn’t get him very far. So he just set his jaw.

_ “Broken little bird.” _ The voice sighed, dripping fake sympathy,  _ “Should have never come back. You’re  _ **_tainted_ ** _ now, little Robin. Tainted and stained…” _ A laugh, the feeling of something jabbing him in the ribs, on the left side,  _ “The stain won’t ever wash out, little Robin. The mark is on you now  _ **_forever.”_ **

He swallowed. Stared straight ahead.

Something moved in the darkness.

A hand, small and pale, peeked out bit by bit.

_ “Think, little Robin. Think of all the things you have said. All the things you have done.” _ The pain in his ribcage intensified, and he gritted his teeth through it,  _ “Your death was well-deserved. You have done such terrible things… You  _ **_will do_ ** _ such terrible things now that you are back. And won’t the littlest Robin look so cute when he can no longer glower? Won’t it be such a relief to see his throat crushed?” _

The hand moved closer.

Dick tried to focus on it, through the pain. Through the mental imagery the words summoned. Through the sickness he felt thinking about Damian―about him  _ killing _ Damian. God knew he’d wanted to, once or twice. God knew it horrified him.

_ “Precious little songbird.” _ The voice sighed, laughing again.

The fingers on the hand flexed, stretching toward him. Moving closer.

_ “You cannot even bare to face the reality of who you are. Of  _ **_what_ ** _ you are.” _

The hand was close enough now to touch. If he only reached out he could grab it, but then what would happen? Then where would he be?

_ “Give up, little Robin.” _ The voice crooned,  _ “Give up. Death is so much easier than what is to come. It’s not as if anyone would really miss you.” _

The hand landed on his knee.

The darkness became a meadow, bright and beautiful, and the change nearly gave him whiplash. He struggled not to react physically, not to cry out in surprise.

“I am so sorry,” A new voice, softer and gentler than the other, spoke from just behind him. Hands settled on his shoulders, softly squeezing as if in an attempt to comfort him. There was a quiet sigh, then, “There is much pain ahead of you, darling. So very much of it… But such is the price of rising from the grave, I’m afraid. The price of helping.”

He swallowed, closing his eyes a moment before reopening them. It wasn’t just the change of scenery giving him whiplash,  _ Christ. _

“You are doing  _ so well, _ darling. Please don’t give up. Don’t be discouraged―your flock needs you, songbird, you know that. Deep down, you know that.” Another soft squeeze, “Remember why you came back. Keep hanging on.”

He blinked, and things turned black again. The hands disappeared from his shoulders.

Even through the darkness, the total lack of any light, he saw…

He saw  _ eyes. _

Black as the rest of everything else, reflecting a light that wasn’t there.

Eyes.

_ Staring. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun little question: what do you think is happening? What do you think is _going_ to happen? I always want to hear any theories or ideas - they're so fun!
> 
> As a "bonus" question, who do you think is behind this?


	16. troubled

_ Hiiissssssss… _

“Ha _ hahahaha….” _

**_Thump._ **

“Damian,  _ mask, now!” _

Damian didn’t even have time to think. The order clicked in his head before anything else processed, really―he heard to put the gasmask on and his hands moved instantly to obey. The ‘promise’ to his father to listen to Grayson hadn’t been necessary. There was such a  _ power _ in Grayson’s words that he didn’t even think of not obeying.

It wasn’t until the mask had clicked into place and the first soft  _ whirr _ of breath taken through the filters sounded in his ears that he realized that Grayson hadn’t put his on.

He almost let himself speak, almost complained, before he realized that Grayson looked dazed. The older boy dropped to his knees as if his legs had simply given out on him, gasmask ready in his hands as if he’d been moving to put it on but simply hadn’t had the time.

He’d wasted the precious second of air he had warning Damian.

It wrenched a gasp from him that he immediately resented himself for.

And now Damian had to chose to stay and protect his older brother, or make a break for it as he’d been told he should once the toxins had been released.

Father would be… Very upset if Grayson was injured again. However, he would be livid if Damian didn’t make sure he got to safety and called for backup. So, gritting his teeth under the gasmask, he turned on his heel and fled the warehouse, snatching hsi communicator off his belt as he went and retreating to the roof of another warehouse before making the call.

_ “Damian, what’s wrong?” _ Father asked, as soon as he’d picked up.

“Grayson is down,” He replied, “He was unable to put his mask on in time. I am unsure if the one who has released whatever toxin affected him means him physical harm but I am almost certain that backup is needed. I’ve retreated to a safe distance to contact you, as instructed, so I cannot watch him or attempt to remove him from his position.”

There was a moment of silence,  _ “Understood. I’ll have Jason and Tim reroute that way first.” _

“Understood.”

_ “Stay where you are until they arrive.” _

“Yes, sir.”

It took ten minutes for Todd and Drake to arrive, approaching on their bikes with the headlights off, crawling between the warehouses. He waited until they’d parked to drop down next to them, and Todd took up a position watching for threats as he usually did while he and Drake settled in to wait for Bruce.

He arrived a moment later, with Raven in tow… Or, rather,  _ Raven _ arrived with  _ him _ in tow, melting out of the shadows of the wharf and sparing a moment to look around.

Once he had directed them toward the correct warehouse, Raven was the first to move. Damian nearly protested, but… Better her than his father, or Todd. Surely a woman who could move through the shadows like that could handle herself if she was up against Scarecrow, or whoever had released the gas that knocked Grayson onto his knees.

Bruce followed at a distance, and Todd motioned for Damian and Drake to approach in front of him, taking up a rear position and scanning the surroundings to watch for any threats. Damian would usually argue Todd’s paranoia, but the fact that Grayson had had  _ no _ tips to offer on actually fighting Scarecrow and only tips on how to get away and he had apparently been doing it the longest of all of them… Well. Perhaps it was best to let the one who still had enough Pit in his veins to heal from most injuries be a tad more cautious than usual and take up a defensive position.

When the re-entered the warehouse, Grayson hadn’t moved so much as an inch. He was still as a statue, every muscle coiled and tense as he knelt in the middle of the open floor. He wasn’t moving, or speaking, or even breathing particularly un-evenly.

He wasn’t behaving as Damian had been told people behaved when exposed to the fear toxin.

Raven and his father shared a look, and though he couldn’t see her face for the shadows he could see that his father seemed concerned. Perhaps about the same development he’d just thought of?

Raven motioned for them to stay back, and with a flick of her wrist there was a literal wall of shadows between them and Grayson, but they could still, somehow, see through it. Outlines of Raven and Grayson, at least.

Raven approached quietly, and lingered a moment at his side before  _ slowly _ pacing around him in a circle. He made no movements that implied he realized she was there.

The wall fell, and Raven knelt at Grayson’s side, reaching out with one gray hand to touch his shoulder.

He jerked away from the contact as if he’d been struck, but with a rapid set of blinks and a heave of his chest he seemed to come back to his senses. At least mostly.

“Are you alright?” Raven asked, and there was only the slightest undertone of concern in her voice.

Grayson blinked at her again. Took a breath and let it out. “... Yeah.”

But he did not look alright. His eyes still looked half-dazed and there was a sickly looking bruise peeking out from under the collar of his long-sleeved shirt and his kevlar vest that had definitely  _ not _ been there before. There hadn’t even been enough time for one to develop. Was that a common side effect? Had Damian breathed in just enough to cause a minor hallucination?

He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t like that.

It took several moments for Grayson to begin to look like he was fully coherent, and for him to stop blinking so much. Once that moment had come, however, Raven laid her hand on his shoulder again.

“What happened?”

Grayson wrinkled his nose at the question, but gave a brief explanation of the events leading up to him being gassed.

Notably, he did not continue in order to explain what, if anything, he had seen while under the influence of the toxins. He just… Stopped after explaining that he’d been overcome in the brief second it had taken him to warn Damian after recognizing the smell couldn’t mean anything good.

Damian thought Grayson  _ may _ be a little too concerned with not seeming affected by this, and the irony of the fact wasn’t at all lost on him, much as he wished that it was. He found himself frowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took _forever_ , despite being so short :/  
> Mostly bc I've never written from Damian's POV before, so I guess that's something to work on in the future lol


	17. A Darkness Creeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor clerical error earlier today where I accidentally posted the first half of the chapter (since I'd had it drafted for the last week or so for ease of posting), so apologies for that!

Raven didn’t mind being tasked with taking Dick back to the Manor and getting him checked out in a better environment, but she  _ did _ mind the way that Dick reacted. The way he had flinched and sort of gone sour in the face. The flare of fear and annoyance she’d felt off of him. The very obvious  _ nothing _ that she felt from him immediately afterwards that proved he had caught himself and was consciously suppressing his emotions from her.

That kind of response was never a good sign.

Even less of a good sign was the slightly betrayed and annoyed look he shot at Bruce as they were leaving.

But the look had melted away by the time that they had appeared in his room at the Manor, and mostly by then he seemed… Tired, if anything at all. He just looked kind of blank, really. And she knew that look, knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t that he felt nothing, it was more likely that he was just trying to deal with something that was bugging him without pulling her into it. He didn’t look  _ blank _ when he felt empty. He looked  _ empty. _ And he didn’t look empty right now.

She didn’t even get a chance to ask about it, though, in the end, because he kind of shook himself and looked at her, and she recognized  _ this _ look, too. This shattered, unsure look. She’d seen it a lot right after they met, when the hurt of Bruce kicking him out was still hurting particularly fiercely, and a lot over the years afterwards―when he’d come back from Deathstroke’s employ so  _ different _ and hadn’t been able to look any of them in the eyes; when he had helped her in the aftermath of her father and had  _ insisted _ he’d do it all again if he had to.

Something was hurting him, and it was hurting him  _ badly. _

“I know you’re going to ask about what I saw.” He said, and he sat down heavily on the edge of his bed before she could respond past wincing. His eyes, still so shattered, flicked away and stared at the only blank piece of wall he seemed to be able to find, “... I just…”

“You don’t have to say it with words,” She reminded him, gently.

He puffed out a breath of a laugh, lips quirking up. But he very pointedly pulled his knees up to his chest and she took that for what it was―he knew letting her  _ look _ to see what he’d seen instead of telling her required physical touch, and he didn’t want to be touched. She stayed where she was and kept her hands to herself.

Not for the first time and likely not for the last, she was struck with the knowledge that this boy, this  _ kid, _ was her best friend. Her best friend, who had been dead for seven years. Her best friend, who was so far out of his depth that it threw her out of hers. Her best friend who hadn’t aged a day since she’d seen him the last time before he died, because unlike Jason he hadn’t come back within months of dying and then spent years aging up pretty much normally. He’d only been back for a little over three and a half months now. He was still sixteen, and she was in her twenties, and…

Dear lord.

She shook the thought away―this wasn’t the time to start having a crisis. Dick was already having several of his own.

“Okay,” She acknowledged his clear message out loud, mostly for his sake, “Then I can wait until you’re ready to talk about it.”

He nodded, still not looking at her, and for a long moment he was silent. Just stared at the wall and stayed curled in on himself.

Then, finally, with a deep breath that sounded like it took everything out of him all by itself, he said, “I didn’t see much at first. Mostly I heard something talking to me and… Felt something… Jabbing me.” His shudder of discomfort and the way he briefly looked even more closed off and distant explained why he didn’t want to be touched right now, “Everything was kind of just black for that.” He seemed to force a laugh, “That one talked a lot of shit.”

She didn’t speak, but internally she winced and cursed at the implication there had been more than one voice. And that this one, this first, apparently very mouthy, voice, had somehow injured him.

“And then I saw a hand, like, reaching toward me out of the shadows? And when it finally reached me and touched my knee I…” He frowned, “Suddenly I was in some kind of meadow and there was someone holding me.” He shuddered again, and she couldn’t keep from wincing physically. “That one was… Weirdly nice in comparison. Definitely more freaked out about the other one. Second one almost felt like you.”

That was a little unsettling, but she chose not to draw attention to it―after all, he was more worried about…

Wait.

Had that strange black bruise spread?

“Dick, are you in any pain?” She found herself asking.

The furrow of his brows told her before he even opened his mouth that the answer was no.

“I need to look at your chest, is that okay? I― You have a bruise creeping up your neck.”

He seemed a little thrown off, but didn’t argue, just began stripping off the armor he was wearing, followed by his shirt. He didn’t so much as wince, which she knew meant for certain that he wasn’t in any pain―even when he didn’t notice he was hurting his body usually reacted.

His shirt fell away, tossed to the side, and she was struck with déjà vu―the black bruise that was creeping up his throat and down beneath the waistband of his pants was almost exactly the same size and shape as the bruises he’d had when he had first come back to life, the ones that had faded off weeks ago. And that was throwing her off for two reasons.

One; those bruises were long gone, she’d watched them finish fading.

Two; the ones there now weren’t just ‘black’ in the way one usually describes bruises. They weren’t just… Violet and blue and red. They were  _ black. _ Like  _ pitch. _

There was no inflammation, no indication he had any real injuries. It was almost like a tattoo in how flat it was. And, in staring at it, she saw a third reason why they threw her off.

As she was staring, she watched them twitch. Watched the tip of the part on his neck creep up higher. And at first she thought she was only seeing things, but given that the bruise that was  _ just _ barely creeping out of his collar a few moments ago was now cresting the edge of his chin…

Dick, almost as soon as he’d finished discarding his shirt, had also turned his attention to his abdomen. His face was unreadable when she was finally able to look at it again, but she knew the clench of his jaw well enough to know it was that way purposely. He was struggling not to react, and she felt the dread coiling tight in his gut as well as she could feel her own.

“Dick?” She asked, softly, mostly to see if he would react at all.

His eyes snapped up to her face, eyes suddenly wide and vulnerable. He looked scared.

“What’s―”

“Tainted.” He said, in a tone she’d never heard from him before―somewhere between bitterly, reproachfully amused and completely breathless, voice raw and cracked in a way it hadn’t been even a few moments ago, “The stain will never wash out.”

Dimly, she realized that must have been something that one of the voices, probably the one he said talked a lot of shit, had told him.

“Tainted?” She asked, gently, in return.

“... It didn’t tell me what it meant.” He said, almost seeming to force his eyes back to the wall rather than looking at her or the bruise.

It crept higher as she watched him.

“... But it implied it.” She guessed.

He swallowed hard, and she took that as a yes.

It touched the outer corner of his right eye, and almost instantaneously the entire eye―iris, pupil, sclera,  _ all of it _ ―turned completely black.

“Dick,” She said, and she wasn’t sure if she was trying to bring attention to the black or comfort him somehow.

“Whatever that asshole was, it kept telling me I was a horrible person and I was going to do something terrible. Probably to Damian.”

Now, usually Raven would have been hard-pressed to believe that those visions had been anything but a mere hallucination. He had been hit by some kind of toxin, after all. That was how toxins of that nature worked, and he was so petrified, historically, by the mere thought of being a bad person or hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it that it would make perfect sense that that was what he was told while hallucinating.

However, the sudden appearance of a bruise that could move on its own and was rapidly spreading immediately after he’d experienced that…

She didn’t like the implications.

Because that made it entirely possible that something was actively hurting Dick by trying to get into his head and make him think he was a bad person.

She suppressed the protective rage she wanted to feel, pushing it down for the time being until she was somewhere where it was safe for her powers to surge so strongly. She suppressed it and took a breath. That anything could or would do something like this to Dick was frustrating at best, and likely to send her flying into a murderous rage at worst, especially after he’d gone through the pain of coming back to life in the first place.

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, she stepped closer to Dick, watching as his eyes snapped to her instantly.

“May I?” She asked, and glanced at the bruise.

His eyes flicked down, then back to her face, then away. He nodded.

She reached out, and he peeked down to watch.

As soon as her fingers brushed the bruise, as soon as the  _ tips _ of them touched his skin, all of the black seized up. She wasn’t even sure how she could tell, but she just  _ knew _ that it had suddenly gone stiff. And then, when she touched a little more, got the pads of her fingers onto his collarbone where she’d brushed, it jerked out from under her fingers with a physical sensation.

All of it retreated to one specific spot―one small, dime-sized circle of blackness over his third and fourth ribs on the left side of his abdomen.

It didn’t move again.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and both of them shared a concerned, unsure look.

But there wasn’t really anything she could do about it without more information.

They would have to leave it be for the time being.

* * *

_ Dick hovered behind her shoulder, peeking down at the books on her little picnic blanket, itching to reach out and touch the silky fabric of her cloak and yet knowing that he couldn’t. It was so bright out here that the pages of her books almost blinded him, at first glance, though his eyes had long since adjusted to the sunlight reflecting back at him. _

_ “Are you enjoying yourself, little Robin?” She asked, sending him an amused glance over her shoulder. _

_ He gave a sheepish grin, sitting next to her on the blanket instead. _

_ “Something like that,” He said, and she laughed and shook her head. _

_ His eyes scanned the pages before her again, even as she paused in her reading to pop a grape into her mouth. Of all the languages he’d learned in his youth, regrettably the one this book was written in wasn’t one of them. It seemed an ancient sort of language, runic and indecipherable as he was right now. He frowned, tilting his head at it a little, and it was less that he couldn’t read it that frustrated him, more that it wouldn’t matter even if he could. _

_ “Another of many texts relating to your… Current predicament.” She said, with a succinctness he had come to expect and appreciate from her, “Perhaps one of the oldest we have here. I’ve still yet to find anything helpful.” _

_ “You don’t have to keep looking,” He reminded her, looking to her face. _

_ She smiled, eyes soft, and shook her head. “You’re family, Dick. Of course I do.” _

_ Something squeezed in his chest, and he smiled a little. _

_ “Thank you.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious that the first part of this chapter and the last one were originally going to be, like, one chapter? I really hope not and yet I felt it was worth mentioning lmao
> 
> Also, I've loved reading your ideas on who you think is behind this and what you think is happening! I promise things will get clearer soon, and I've updated the fic's tags with relevant information I had forgotten to add initially, so there are a few tips to be found there >w>


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